


Let it Come, Let it Go,

by cognomen



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Angst with a Happy Ending, Complete, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Fae Magic, Familiars, General Finn, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Magic-Users, Mind Control, Multi, Oral Sex, Princess Rey, Slow Burn, Some historical references, Torture, assorted handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-05-14 19:06:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 66,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5754772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cognomen/pseuds/cognomen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"I just wish I knew what they're planning," Poe admits, because over the course of the war they have grown to be friends, deeply and truly, before Poe ever had any official title. He is still, in his own eyes, just Poe. Common born, with no great or noble ancestry beyond the guards who had served the Skywalkers in this very castle. A long enough time ago that Poe still gets lost in it sometimes, chasing his childhood memories through the hallways and chambers.</i><br/> <br/><i>"It's a surprise," Rey says, clearly far more delighted with the proposal than Poe is.</i></p><p>  <i>"I don't really like First Order surprises," Poe admits.</i><br/> </p><p>A Fairy Tale AU for a detailed prompt from the TFA-Kinkmeme.  In which the Skywalkers are the rightful rulers of a newly restored kingdom, X-Wing pilots have become dragon riders, the First Order is a Soldier Nation (akin to Sparta), and all any of them should have to worry about is the forthcoming royal marriage to cement the formed union between nations. </p><p>But it's never that easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Poe doesn't understand the strong desire for theatrical secrecy on the behalf of the capitulating First Order. It leaves him anxious and sweating in his dress uniform, wishing he were astride his dragon, a position better for facing the unknown. Admittedly, it may be overkill - in this case, the unknown is just the identity of one man. 

He seems to be the one still spot in the entire ballroom, with his eyes flicking rapidly between two points - the first being wherever the Princess has drifted to in the well-dressed crowd, and the second one toward the massive double-doors of the ballroom.

He has chosen this place for the best view of the space, though it leaves Poe isolated on a balcony from the celebration. He'd rather avoid unnecessary distraction. True, the war was over (or they would not be here right now) and peace was made, but until recently the First Order soldier nation had been enemies in the employ of the Immortal Emperor Palpatine.

Poe tries not to harbor a lingering mistrust - he had, after all, worked closely with the First Order Generals when they had allied with the loyalist Resistance after these years fighting against each other. It's harder to trust them when they insist on secrecy for such an important matter.

Checking the time for the tenth time in - _only seven minutes_ \- Poe returns his attention to first the door, and then to the mosaic floor of the ballroom; a magnificent scene done in honor of driving out the evil king who had wrongfully sat on the Skywalker throne for more than 20 years.   
He scans the crowd below lazily for Princess Rey, and does not find her immediately. 

Anxiously, Poe redoubles his efforts, leaning partly over the bannister to scan the crowd below for her figure in the uncharacteristic dress. He can't find her.

"Relax, Knight-Commander," the Princess' voice comes from behind him, both startling him and alleviating his worry. "You should come down and join the festivities, instead of watching like a hawk."

Relief floods Poe when he turns to see her familiar smile - not at all gentle, but free and feral and completely joyous like she is - aimed at him. Relief, and something else. She’s out of the element he's grown used to her in, dressed in a slim dress that bares her shoulders, but not her arms; layered skirts in gold and white, and not her usual practical tan clothing. It doesn’t seem to make her uncomfortable in the least.

"I just wish I knew what they're planning," Poe admits, because over the course of the war they have grown to be friends, deeply and truly, before Poe ever had any official title. He is still, in his own eyes, just Poe. Common born, with no great or noble ancestry beyond the guards who had served the Skywalkers in this very castle. A long enough time ago that Poe still gets lost in it sometimes, chasing his childhood memories through the hallways and chambers.

"It's a surprise," Rey says, clearly far more delighted with the proposal than Poe is.

"I don't really like First Order surprises," Poe admits.

"We're not at war anymore, Knight-Commander," she reminds.

"So they say." Poe thinks about how her use of his title has stopped seeming like an affectionate nickname and has started to make him feel the widening gulf between their stations.

"How do you know if you'll even like your suitor if you don't know who it is?" Poe asks.

"I can always say no," Rey reminds. 

In a dark, quickly buried place in Poe's mind, he hopes she does.

"Besides," she continues. "It would be embarrassing for the First Order to have an offer rejected. They'll be confident in whoever they put forward."

"Sounds like you have somebody in mind."

Eyes twinkling, she smiles at him, seeming to sparkle. _She looks beautiful_ , Poe thinks, putting the thought somewhere behind his sinking heart. If she does have someone in mind, the thought clearly at least intrigues her. Poe envies her the practical enthusiasm.

"Princess," he begins, and she scowls at him so fiercely that another image comes to mind, a warm and bright one close to his heart. His statement is derailed by his own smile, which he hides hastily behind his cupped hand as her scowl deepens.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"You aren't at all," she tells him.

"It's just that you look so much like Queen Leia when you disprove," Poe says, feeling better. He glances at the clock, and then the door again, pulling his stiff and well-tailored uniform flawlessly straight.

"Perhaps if your closest friends began suddenly to call you 'princess'..." Rey begins, with her sharp glance making Poe aware of his fidgeting. "Stop."

Poe stops, dropping his hands to his sides.

"Try not to feel so anxious that you create an incident," she says, more gently. "I have a good feeling about our alliance, and I _want_ to have a good feeling about this match. It's time to let go of war for a little while - hopefully for the rest of our lives."

Poe exhales a deep breath he hadn't known he was holding.

Rey preempts any reply he might make with a firm - she's _deceptively_ strong - swat to the small of his back that unbalances his rigid posture, and follows with a bright, mischievous smile.

She commands, "Relax, Poe. It's almost time."

And then she's heading down the stairs from the balcony. The main doors are swinging slowly, dramatically open to admit their surprise - but expected - guest. Poe absently rubs the sting from the small of his back with one hand, the other curling habitually on the hilt of his ceremonial sword.

A small impact at the back of his knee startles him at the crucial moment, and he looks down, shifting warily away from the assault - 

_-Hold still!-_ a small voice commands in his mind.

The small, orange and white furred form of Beebee is clinging with sharp claws to his pant leg, ascending his thigh determinedly with little regard for the skin beneath.

Poe reaches down to help his ermine-shaped familiar up before he suffers any scratches that will bleed. "Where did you get off to?"

_-Black is as restless as you are-_ Beebee informs him, settling onto his shoulder. _-Now hush! I want to see!-_

Poe looks back toward the door, remembering what he had been looking for before Beebee distracted him. The door stands open, having admitted the First Order delegation but- 

_-Oh! You made me miss it. -_

Empty. Poe looks for any sign of the delegation. He sees the sour-faced general of the First Order Soldier Nation - Hux, if he remembers correctly - dressed still in full battle regalia in the way of his custom. It hardly looks like he's having a good time. Poe supposes it doesn't much look like _he's_ having a good time, either.

_-Serves you right staying up here on the balcony,-_ Beebee tells him, poking her pointed muzzle in under the collar of his dress coat. _-Rather than meeting a prospective mate like everyone else.-_

"Beebee," he says, good temperedly. "Not everyone sees things as practically as you do."

She snorts a light whuff of air against his skin and Poe strokes over the long line of her back and tail with an absently lifted hand, still scanning the crowd for the Princess. Much as she hates when Poe hovers over her, he takes his charge of protecting her very seriously. 

_-Well you should be practical, if you're ever going to be happy.-_

"Who says I'm not-"

-There _she is!-_ Beebee crows, yanking gently on his attention until Poe also sees her - and another, surprisingly familiar figure.

Poe leans over the railing, wanting to be sure, but there's no doubt about it. Cloistered away from the crowd and speaking enthusiastically with the Princess is the First Order General once known as FN-2187; more recently called 'Finn' by Poe himself.

Poe's heart thuds a little harder in his chest at the familiar, handsome visage. Finn is smiling, white teeth a brilliant contrast to his brown skin.

He must have come with the delegation. Poe had thought they'd surely never see each other again, but it makes sense - who better to ease this most important meeting than someone that Rey counted as a close friend? He must be putting her at ease about her suitor - or they're reminiscing about old times on the front lines. 

Rey begins to look around after some question from Finn and Poe tries to lean quickly back into the shadows of the balcony, nearly un-seating Beebee in the process, but it's too late. Rey's eyes settle on him with bowshot precision, and she beckons him down with a triumphant, beautiful smile.

Poe starts down the stairs with the same feeling of dread as if they led to the executioner's noose.

-

"So it's _you_ we have to thank for this surprise," Rey is saying, looking intently at Finn.

He offers her a sheepish grin, hands tucked behind his back as Poe hesitantly joins them. Instead of the battle armor the First Order uses both for formal occasions and combat, he's dressed more closely to the rest of the gathering, in finery. He looks amazing.

Poe isn't sure he's going to survive this encounter.

"Well, it's partially a First Order tradition," Finn admits. "The Grand General insisted that we had to -" he drops his voice in imitation of authority, "-'not appear to be wholly subjugating ourselves to the gentler culture'." 

Rey stifles her bark of laughter politely. "Well, I'm glad you came. I'd have hated to see the Grand General's expression if I'd had to refuse immediately."

Poe is very still and quiet, thinking how brave she is about her future, how calm she seems to be before meeting her future husband.

"Were you surprised?" Finn asks, and then; "was it a _good_ surprise?"

"Not _really_ ," Rey admits. "But in this case, it's good not to be _completely_ surprised."

They smile at each other and the world seems to dim around them just a little. Maybe it's just how luminous they are together. Poe drifts just outside their world until Finn suddenly turns his attention on him, clapping Poe on the shoulder Beebee doesn't occupy.

His heart drops into his gut like a stone. _Of course_ \- who was a better fit than the Soldier-now-General who had first bridged the gap? He and Rey were already acquainted, sparing much of the awkwardness that would spring from offering a stranger as a suitor.

Poe cannot contest the match - Finn was as kind and gentle as he was competent; as smart and loyal as he was skilled with a sword.

_And_ , Poe thinks miserably, _I like him._

They had worked together over the course of the war. Finn was a good man. The sort of man and match that a Skywalker heir deserved. 

" _You're_ the suitor," Poe says, kicking himself for his bluntness. He has to know for certain.

Finn beams at him, sweetly oblivious. "Yeah, buddy. It's me."

Poe's happiness for them struggles off the ground like a dragon with three broken limbs. 

"Well, I'm glad they sent us their best man," Poe manages.

"It turns out I have just enough connection by marriage to be a match for royalty," Finn says. "I think they really had to dig for it."

Poe nods politely, as parts of his soul crumbles to voids and edifices.

"Seems like you got a promotion too," Finn observes, swinging a companionable arm warmly over Poe's shoulders. 

Beebee scrambles to get out of the way with an indignant squeak, causing an echoing wince in Poe as her claws dig into his back beneath his shirt.

"Ah-sorry-," Finn lifts his arm again, apologizing to Beebee.

The ermine-shaped familiar returns to Poe's shoulder to glare challengingly at Finn, her bushy tail stiff and angry.

_-He better watch it!-_

"She says it's alright," Poe assures him, lifting his hand to soothe Beebee. Finn beats him to it, risking his fingers to pet her comfortingly in a long stroke. It calms her - and she passes some of her approval on to Poe. 

"You're a Knight-Commander now?" Finn asks, rubbing his finger somewhat intimately beneath Beebee's chin. Her pleasure is infectious. Poe shifts away discreetly under the guise of drawing up straight in a salute.

"I have no idea what she was thinking," Poe confesses, when the motion is completed for her delight. 

Rey laughs at his humorous depreciation. "I didn't think you'd take it quite so seriously."

How could he not?

But she makes no further criticism and Poe is allowed to carefully recede from the conversation again. Instead, he waits patiently on the edge of awareness, feeling that somehow, everything has changed so completely in the short months since they'd won their war. He does not fully know how he belongs here, save for the place he has been given.

The rest is transformed. Poe thinks wistfully, as he is surrounded by the spoils and opulence of victory, of the simplicity of his days in the resistance. He thinks, with some guilt, that he would trade all of his days in the formal setting of the castle for one more night camping with his friends in easy repose, even when the fear of attack waited in the back of their minds.

_That_ , Poe had known how to navigate. Now, with the restoration of the throne and the ascension of the Skywalker line back to power, the courtly rules have also been restored, the need for propriety and the eyes to watch for any breach of such.

In exchange for his title, Poe has lost his closest friendships - maybe, if he's honest with himself, deeper than friendships.

He watches, with bright pain in his heart, as Finn leads Rey away to the heart of the occasion. Dancing. They are both smiling, looking only at each other. 

Of course, Poe notices, _she_ leads the Waltz.

-

With the match proving amenable to both parties, Finn moves into the castle in preparation for the eventual wedding.

With his room situated at the end of the hall where the King and Princess sleep, Poe has always been aware of the comings and goings in the wing. The place allows him to respond immediately in the face of danger, but now serves instead to leave him acutely aware of the comings and goings of the former First Order soldier.

It is, in part, his job. Not because Poe believes that Finn is any danger to Rey's person, but because he's been appointed by both Queen Organa and Skywalker himself to be a sort of chaperone.

It isn't his favourite duty.

He is not so close as to intrude on their private conversations, but he notes with old skills from long watches for the Resistance when Finn comes, how long he is there, the lulls in conversation for short periods. Poe isn't quite sure how he would police any real impropriety. 

If the door were closed he could kick it down like a terrifying old Matron saving the virtue of some antiquated princess, but those tales seemed pertinent only to oafs and ogres. Rey is hardly a princess of old. He has seen her in combat with her staff or a sword and has always counted himself immensely lucky to have been on her side.

And Finn, while from a culture that Poe's own would decry as much in common with the villains of those old tales, is neither oaf nor ogre. In truth, Poe can see that what the two are building is so strong that he can see no vice, no lack of willingness or readiness that should demand his intervention.

It leaves him pinned uncomfortably between the implications of 'chaperone' and his own complex feelings on the subject. Guiltily, at times when the silence has gone on a little too long, he makes his presence known. He knows, with a faintly anxious feeling, what _he_ would do with such silence if he were allowed, if he were a brave man.

Today, they come to him instead.

"I've just been telling Finn about your dragon," Rey begins, beaming in his doorway, thrilled with _something_.

"Black?" Poe asks, hastily pretending he has been sharpening his blade this whole time rather than listening to their voices with all his might. Eavesdropping.

She nods, with her lower lip under her teeth, eager. Her excitement has been far less rare since their victory, but it's not less achingly infectious. He's never met someone who wasn't a rider who loved to fly as much as Rey.

Finn is just behind her in the doorway, eyes bright, and Poe understands what they want intuitively. He wakes Beebee, sheathing his sword at his hip. 

The ermine, curled in a limp, boneless pile on the bed, wakes with a long and luxurious stretch to Poe's gentle touch. A massive yawn that's all small, sharp teeth and curling tongue pours out of her jaws before she blinks sleepily up at him and the guests in his doorway.

_-Whuzz?-_ It's a half-formed sleepy query in Poe's mind.

"C'mon, Beebee, I need you," Poe says, gently. Deeply affectionate. 

She perks up, bouncing to her feet. _-We're going to go see Black?-_

"Yeah," he says, picking her up. It's faintly self-conscious, that he has to speak aloud to his familiar with two others watching him. 

He can feel her pleasure at the notion. At the relief from boredom. He tries his best to feel apologetic while at the same time knowing that the forming and flowering peace will leave very little room for the sort of exciting exploits they're used to.

He's not the only rider to be worried about his place in the future, or to be missing the thrill of flying into danger.

They do not box or cage the dragons. As big and terrifying as they are, they're also primarily peaceful creatures, dangerous only to livestock when bonded to a rider through a familiar. It's a warm enough day that a half dozen of them are lounging on the massive stone steppes below the castle. It's a good sight; a _right_ sight after the steppes had been so long bare under the rule of the Immortal, Palpatine.

His own is easy to pick out - one jet black body amongst the blue and red hides of his wingmates.

"He really is black," Finn observes.

"They told me it was a bad idea to try," Poe says, without bothering to conceal his pride. "Blue is safe, Red is safe; Black is wild."

"You'd hardly believe it _now_ ," Rey says, gesturing at the sedate creature sprawled to expose his belly to the sunlight, "but I thought Poe -"

She corrects herself, "-the Knight Commander - was crazy."

Poe shrugs with as much demurement as he can manage. It isn't much - he's proud of his accomplishments with Black. 

Beebee was up the path ahead of them, plunging fearlessly amongst the dragons. She's barely as big as one of their claws, but she's in no danger. Poe can 'hear' her calling Black until the sleek, massive head rises from the pile of intertwined dragon limbs.

Finn pulls in a breath.

"There's no need to worry," Rey assures him. 

"I'm just not used to seeing them loose," Finn says apologetically. "The First Order..."

He doesn't have to explain. The First Order keeps only a strange, twisted breed of dragon; albinos that they armor in black. The creatures are all weak-minded and easily subdued. Responsive, quick to obey, but almost zombies in a way. 

Poe pities those animals, and the enslaved familiars required to control them. It makes him uneasy, the regimentation of men and creatures until there was no longer any sign of individuality. Of course, there is clear evidence that the rigid training and discipline did not _always_ take.

"Well," Poe says, walking fearlessly down the path, "It's not a bad idea to worry just a little, around a dragon."

Black, with Beebee perched diminutively atop the horn-crowned head, trots up to meet them.

A lesser man would quail, even a rider used to the presence of dragons might have flinched, knowing the reputation of black animals for unpredictability.

Neither Rey nor Finn give any sign of anything less than full confidence in Poe, and his heart swells a little, welling up with a mix of emotions he usually only gets midair.

-


	2. Chapter 2

Poe is in the depths of the castle, trying to pinpoint his mother's old room in the guard's wing when he finds the Princess. 

It's unexpected. While the castle is slowly returning from the empty desolation that has claimed it under the rule of the Emperor, there are still parts of it unused. Undergoing repairs or being scoured clean of years of neglect before anyone can inhabit them again.

"I only expected to find dust motes," Poe says, with a little hesitation before he interrupts her privacy. He would have left her be, but he sees no sign of guards. Even now, even in the safety of the castle itself, it makes him nervous. Especially in surroundings that had once hosted a tragedy.

She smiles to see him anyway, standing in the corridor like an apparition of the golden past, bathed in the thick beam of sunlight that stripes the middle of the hall.

"It's alright," she says, reading his hesitation. "I was just exploring."

Poe approaches, answering her patient beckon.

"It seems so empty," she says, when he's standing in the sun with her. He can feel the effect instantly, the warmth soaking into the back of his collar and the top of his head, amplified by his dark hair.

"People need time to recover," he says. "It'll fill up again soon."

"I'm not sure I'm ready for that," she confesses. "I still like my moments in solitude."

"About that," Poe says, hating the compulsion that drives him to do so. He bites off the rest of the question. He isn't her _jailer_.

She gives him a curious, knowing glance.

"Never mind," Poe assures her, smiling, doing his best to find his old charm. "I confess I kind of miss the adventure too."

"It's not even the adventure," Rey says. "I just spent so long on my own."

"Do you miss it?" Poe asks.

She gives her head a little shake. "Not exactly. I'm not used to having so much company, but it's not unpleasant."

Poe watches her, considering the parallels between them. How they had walked together in straight lines, side by side, for a little while. He always seems to have to veer off from his friends after a time. He tucks his hands behind his back and rocks up on his heels.

"Just, sometimes you have to get away?" he asks.

"I thought you might understand," she says. "Sorry if I took your hiding place."

_What's mine is yours,_ he thinks, waving the apology away as unnecessary. "It's _your_ castle."

"You grew up here, didn't you?" she asks.

"For a time," Poe says, keeping his thoughts reigned in tightly. She doesn't want to hear about any tragedies - they are in the past. "Enough that some parts call out to me a little. My parents were-"

"Guards," she remembers. "So they lived here."

Though the hall is unused, it is clean. Bathed in sunlight. No signs of the horrors the Emperor's servant, a being known only as the Vader had wrought here. Someone, at some point, must have cleaned the blood from the walls and tile.

That night, Poe does not remember. A shiver crawls under his skin even in the sunlight. Outside, a cloud dims the sun.

"Isn't it strange," Rey says, her eyes very distant, "that the Emperor only kept _one_ guard?"

"Who needs more than one," Poe says, wondering what she's driving at. "When that one has all the dark Fae magic he needs?" 

"It just seems like..." she says, trailing off with a sigh. "No, you're right. I think I'm just _looking_ for trouble, these days."

"It's hard to forget," Poe agrees. "Wariness served us so well for so long."

She gives him a long look, as if she can see right through him, silently suggesting that he listen to his own words. 

"I wish we'd all be a little less on our guards," she says, brightly, like making a tally point in some game she's playing. "But, speaking of, I suppose you'll want to come with me until I can find Jess and Temmin again?"

He does, trying to puzzle through the maze of the conversation. What was it that has her worried and wandering, drawn to the secrets hidden in the castle?

-

"I am not a morning person," Poe laments aloud.

Beebee looks up at him from the pile of bedclothes, blinking at his half dressed figure over her whiskers.

- _So why'd you wake_ me _up?_ \- she demands.

"If I have to get up, you have to get up," Poe tells her.

- _Why do you have to get up?_ -

For a moment, in the freezing pre-dawn air of the oncoming fall, Poe doesn't remember. What he _wants_ is to crawl back into bed where he knows there's still some of his body heat trapped and sleep until the sun is high in the sky.

"Our turn on morning patrol this week," he reminds Beebee patiently when he remembers himself. Doggedly, with a faint ache in his joints from the combined effects of the cold, too little sleep, and his years of hard flying, Poe pulls on his flight leathers.

Beebee exaggeratedly drags herself out of bed, stretching each limb individually with a well-defined s-curve of her back.

- _Well, for flying, it's not so bad._ \- she allows. - _Pick me up. The floor looks cold._ -

The floor _is_ cold. Poe scoops her up off the bed and settles her onto his shoulders to keep his hands free so he can pull his boots on. Then, his gloves against the cold weather. Finally, the harness that will keep him in place during more extreme maneuvers in flight. He doesn't anticipate doing any - not on a routine patrol - but better to have the gear in case.

- _So you don't fall off if you fall asleep._ -Beebee agrees, intruding on his thoughts of a nice, hot cup of caf. Or _five_.

"I won't fall asleep," he says, making up his mind. He turns down the hall to the kitchens. The cooks at least are early risers, and Poe is certain that he can charm a cup of caf from their batch before he has to go out into the gray pre-dawn cold.

- _Cheater._ -Beebee accuses, scaling down his chest to settle in the crook of his arm.

Once the warm cup is in his other hand, Poe feels much better. He does his best to drink it down on his way to the dragon mews, knowing he can't take it with him. As he passes through the nearly empty hallways, he catches sight of - or thinks he sees - a familiar tall figure moving away at an intersection.

Poe stops short, splashing himself with hot coffee and nearly unseating Beebee.

- _Watch it!_ -

"Sorry," he murmurs, leaning back to double check. It _is_ Finn, heading up to the courtyard. _What's he doing up this early?_

He tells himself he's _curious_ , not suspicious, when he alters his course to follow. carefully. He just wants to see what Finn is getting up to this early in the morning, and if it's nothing but a walk there's no need to interrupt it.

- _Where are we going?_ \- Beebee demands, skittering up his sleeve to his shoulder again, leaning in close to his neck as if conspiring with him.

"We," Poe whispers, careful to move silently, not to spill any more of his drink, "are following Finn."

- _You'll be late for patrol._ \- Beebee warns, though there's no scolding in her tone. she was always more likely to encourage Poe's bad behavior than to try and stop it.

"Report me to the Knight-Commander," Poe mutters, leaning against the corner Finn has just disappeared around, peering around it cautiously out into the small enclosed courtyard. It is contained within a square of four halls.

Two of the halls are currently unoccupied, but one is the wing he - and the Skywalkers - sleep in. He can see his own window from here, across the desolate yard. And Rey's, unlit. She's still sleeping. 

Once, this had been a garden. For now, it is a collection of overgrown bushes and brown, dead, flowering plants. Finn stands in the center of this crowded, hectic space, taking advantage of the open area at the center to stretch himself. Limbering up before he draws a wooden practice sword from a hidden rack in the corner.

- _Oh, he's just practicing._ \- Beebee observes.

Poe's curiosity should be satisfied, but he stays, transfixed, to watch Finn's fluid motions with the weapon. His strength and grace are clear. Poe has seen his skill before, but never had a chance to really _watch_ \- the heat of battle hardly seemed like the time to indulge in a good ogle. 

_Now_ however...

Poe watches the well-practiced motions, the way the effort begins in the core of Finn's body before radiating outward. He's heard all the cliches - a sword that's like an extension of the body or arm or whatever it was that sword work was supposed to look like.

This goes beyond that. Finn looks like he's made for this, with no wasted motion. No overshot. The blade stops exactly where he wants, goes exactly when he wants. He and the sword move only the way Finn intends, features determined and dark eyed. Poe's heart turns over in his chest at the solemnity of Finn's expression, exposing its tender underside like a dog begging to have its belly rubbed.

- _You got it_ bad.- Beebee tells him, and Poe is surprised by her presence, having forgotten everything but the way Finn's muscles are bulging and squeezing under his shirt.

He drags his eyes away and presses his back against the cool stone wall. The cup of caf is still in his hand - he's surprised to find it there. _Good job, Dameron,_ he thinks. _You have the hots for the future Queen_ and _the man she's about to marry, you hopeless dope._

Poe drains his mug, waiting for the too-warm sensation of extreme interest to fade. He clears the picture out of his mind - something about stepping into the courtyard, pulling the wooden sword out of Finn's hands and seeing where a kiss gets him...

- _You're really late for patrol._ \- Beebee reminds him, and Poe could swear out loud for that - where was his mind?

He rushes down the halls and takes the steps down into the mews at a run, reaching up to steady Beebee on his shoulder.

- _What are you going to do about this?_ -

"What do you mean?" Poe asks, breathlessly, as he pulls the saddle and harness off the wall with a jingle of buckles. Black is waiting impatiently at the circle where riders gear up and mount.

- _I mean,_ \- Beebee says, sounding annoyed, - _What are you going to do about wanting them?_ -

Poe slings the saddle over Black's neck and shoulders, pulling the cinches tight and thinking. He double checks the harness, and the attachment for Beebee that keeps her safe between Black's shoulder blades. 

Finally, he admits, "I dunno."

He weathers the dark cloud of her disapproval as he pulls himself up onto his saddle and Black launches into the air. 

-

The image haunts Poe. After catching Finn once in the courtyard in the wee hours, the first suspicion creeps in. Finn could practice any time, and it wasn't as if Rey didn't already know - and match - his martial ability. There was no need to hide it. So, Poe supposes, Finn isn't hiding it. He wakes after a week of cold, early morning patrols at the same time - though now the morning watched has passed to Knight-Captain Wexley and his unconventional familiar Mister Bones. 

Groaning protest at his own bad ideas, Poe drags himself out of bed anyway and decides to put his theory to the test. This morning, he leaves Beebee to sleep in, dresses plainly, and forgoes the caf. He also finds Finn exactly where he expects; in the courtyard and practicing.

This time, Poe makes his presence known.

"Finn?"

"Good morning," Finn says, throwing a smile at Poe without breaking his stride. He has nothing to hide.

"You know you can sleep in now that the war is over?" Poe asks, leaning in the archway to watch and making no attempt to appear disinterested.

"Tried that," Finn admits. "But I've been trained to get up before dawn since before I can really remember."

He finishes the sword form and 'sheaths' the wooden practice sword through the sash at his waist. 

"So I just wind up in bed, beating myself up that I can't sleep and beating myself up for not practicing," Finn explains, turning fully toward Poe now. 

Poe steps into the courtyard as if compelled, and realizing in the same moment that his i probably the least dressed he's ever seen Finn. First Order soldiers practically slept in their armor when in the field. When he'd arrived - _since_ he'd arrived - Finn has mostly dressed in adopted Republic finery. His current attire is black, simple. Form fitting. A practice Gi - for the First Order, it's practically underwear. 

"Well," Poe says, tearing his eyes away from the clear definition of Finn's arms and stomach. "You're new here yet. Marriage will teach you a thing or two about sleeping in."

Finn looks at him, clearly not understanding. Poe wants to kick himself. He resists the urge to press an embarrassed hand to his own face for making an entirely inappropriate remark to his _future king._

"Never mind," he says. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"But you did," Finn tells him, with a flash of white teeth in his best mischievous grin. "And there's a penalty."

_I should_ not _like the sound of that as much as I do_ , Poe thinks, intrigued anyway. He asks, "what penalty?"

"You have to spar me," Finn tells him, outright grinning now.

"Spar? Like with a sword?" Poe asks.

Finn nods.

Poe should protest. He's skilled with a sword, but not trained-from-birth skilled. While he's confident that if push comes to shove, he could defend himself and Princess Rey (not that she needs much defending), his real skill is in flight. However, it was more than an offer of a lesson - which Poe isn't so foolish as to decline because he's going to lose - it's also an offer of continuing friendship. Poe leaps for it, like a rope across a chasm.

"You got one of those practice swords for me, buddy?" Poe asks, rolling up his sleeves.

Finn produces a second wooden sword from the rack in the corner and passes it to Poe. It seems heavier than he expects, and Poe realizes it's weighted like a real blade. Likely, it has a metal core. He gives it a test swing. This match will have consequences for more than just Poe's pride, but the thought excites him. 

He wishes, as he steps into the clear space across from Finn and they square off, that he'd stopped for a cup of caf after all.

-

Later, when he makes his way back to his room stiff, bruised, and sweating, Poe thinks he's held his own pretty well. Well enough to think that maybe it was worth waking up early a little more often.

Beebee gives him a dark look when he comes in sweaty and dirty from more than one impact with the garden ground, dropping his soiled clothes in a heap on the floor.

- _Have you been rolling in mud?_ -

"Sparring," Poe tells her, finding a curious joy in his heart. A lightness that his exhausted body can't match. 

Beebee tilts her head, looking at him with fierce dark eyes t hat miss nothing. Her long body and extended neck convey a warning to him. Poe's high spirits sink some. She blinks, once, a slow and dismissive gesture, then slithers down the sheets to the floor when she sees the change in his mood.

- _No,_ be _happy,_ \- she tells him. - _Just be careful, too._ -

She's right, of course. He can't get too comfortable, too relaxed. Poe not only has a job to do, but he doesn't belong in the middle of the future king and queen's happiness. 

- _And take a bath._ \- Beebee tells him, flicking her black-tipped tail in a disgusted gesture.

Poe scoops her up to take with him as he obliges her wishes.

"Ask and you shall receive," he says dryly, ignoring her squirming protests.

-


	3. Chapter 3

Poe manages to drag himself out of bed early a few times a week and finds that he looks forward to it. It is a chance to test himself against a better swordsman without worrying about losing face. It siphons tension off of both of them - or Poe so flatters himself by thinking - leaving them less tense and wary. 

Peace was an ideal that was easy to strive for, but harder to live with after so long in the resistance.

He catches his breath sitting in the cold early morning air surrounded by the skeletons of old rose bushes and dwarf fruit trees. He's exhausted, but in a satisfied way. Beside him, sitting in similar condition - Poe is privately proud of this - is Finn. The silence is comfortable

"Where's Beebee?" Finn asks, curious, when he has his breath back.

"She likes to sleep in," Poe tells him, thinking of how she protests when he upsets her sleep by getting up in the morning.

"I thought you liked that, too," Finn says, not quite making it into a question.

"I do," Poe admits. "But it's better to get up early for something that I enjoy from time to time, rather than only for early patrols."

Finn laughs. "You enjoy all this exercise?"

"That's a nice way of putting it," Poe says, giving over a smile. "You mean I enjoy losing to you? Yes."

Poe rolls his shoulders in a brief shrug, indicating that he knows it's not logical. He can feel himself grinning winningly, an old instinct that seems to keep waking up around Finn and Rey. It's improper, and he knows when the eyes of the court are watching, he doesn't dare wear so much real emotion.

But here, this early, the court has yet to wake and the sleeping garden feels safe enough. "I'm getting better all the time."

"Uh-huh," Finn says, humoring him. "But it'll be a while before you're as good as me."

"I was flying when you were still in diapers," Poe tells him, reminding himself at the same time. The age difference isn't _that_ big, but Poe had flown with his mother at a very early age, and sometimes the gap feels bigger for Finn's naivety.

"Uh-huh," Finn says again, un-bothered by the bragging brought on by Poe's stung pride. After that, it's easy to laugh off, a moment of companionship that mirrors those from the past when the future had been much less certain and quiet moments more precious.

"Give me a year," Poe says, with a confidence he doesn't completely feel. "I'll beat you at least once before the end of a year."

Finn eyes him, appraising with a bright smile and a dark roving eye, then offers his big, brown hand to seal the bet in the manner he'd learned from Poe himself. They shake, once, firmly - Finn's hand is very warm, curled strongly around Poe's.

"Deal," Finn says.

They don't agree on the stakes. Poe allows a little thrill to go under his skin at the challenge, and in the darkest shadow of his heart, at the implication of unknown penalty. They part ways in good spirits and Poe's thoughts slink away from Finn and toward the far more attainable fantasies of bed and caf. There's work to do, of course, but Poe has the pleasure of being in charge and as such enjoys the freedom of taking his intelligence reports and patrol write ups in the comfort of his own bed. With the even greater leisure of a cup of caf delivered to him by hand close at his elbow. 

Poe is embroiled in this daydream about his own future when a motion catches his attention. A flicker of black, caught out of the corner of his eye. In the early morning light, a soft golden glow that illuminates the interior of the castle, so dark a figure is out of place. It drags Poe's attention around, pulling him like a bit in a horse's mouth.

In the morning, the castle is brilliant. Light pours in all of the east-facing windows Poe remembers pulling down all of the boards covering them - one of the first things they'd done after re-taking the castle.

So black a shadow doesn't belong. Poe turns down the corridor after the motion, certain that he _had_ seen it, that it isn't some fluttering specter of his over tired eyes. He knows those ghosts, those drifting black spots of wandering void that he'd seen often in his days of short shifts at sleep and longer endurances of flight. This isn't the same sort of trick of the light that twenty hours of patrol would cause.

For all that, Poe can't catch it. He sees it once more, a flicker around a corner, and though he runs to catch up he finds an empty abandoned hallway there. It is the old guards quarters, the set of dormitories that lay empty and still tease at Poe's most ancient memories. 

Nothing occupies these empty halls and rooms but the bands of light that had recently illuminated the Princess. Poe searches for phantoms in the unused places, his pleasant fantasy of returning to bed dying in his thoughts.

-

 

"Knight-Commander," the voice pulls Poe from his thoughts, calling him sharply up from the depths. 

The King - Luke Skywalker - is standing in his doorway. Poe nearly knocks his desk over as he struggles to his feet, barking his knees on the underside of the work top. As he snaps to attention, he displaces the chair, sending it rattling back on two legs before it thumps back to all fours rather than falling all the way over.

King Skywalker seems surprised by the reaction. Poe is still unsure how to read him, finding the bearded face lined and careworn, the eyes deep. He still seems unfamiliar, even though Poe has been fighting for his cause for years - and alongside him for some part of that time. He's just unreachable, somehow, at a distance that Poe can't get grip on.

"Can I have a word with you?" Luke asks, politely.

Poe's first reaction is sheer panic. Foolish, around a Druidic Jedi. _He knows._

"Of course, your Majesty," Poe says, forcing his tone into a formal, toneless drone.

"Walk with me, Knight-Commander?" Luke requests, tilting his head to indicate the hallway behind him.

Poe's heart sinks a little further into his belly, drowning in the guilt that's pooling there. 

"Of course, Majesty," Poe says, starting forward in a rush to comply - as if by demonstrating his unwavering loyalty he can avoid the dismissal that he worries is coming. Instead, he only impacts his chair, tipping it all the way over this time with a bang, even as Poe scrambles after it. Painful embarrassment at his clumsiness floods him.

He sets the traitorous furniture firmly back onto its feet and out of his way. When he dares to look up at the king again, he finds the wizened face wearing a small, mysterious smile of amusement.

Without any comment on Poe's seeming preoccupation, Luke leads the way into the main corridors of the castle. Beebee springs off of Poe's dresser where she had been stretched in a patch of sunlight, tail held up straight as she looks for Luke's familiar, Artoo. She spots the other familiar in the rafters overhead. 

Familiars take a shape that suits themselves as much as their bond-mates, occasionally resulting in a strong-willed familiar that seemed utterly unlike their other half. Artoo is one such, taking the form of a parrot - a massive blue feathered bird with a curved black beak that looks dangerously powerful, and wicked black eyes that miss nothing. 

He is also, when it suits him, capable of swearing like a sailor in the common language.

Beebee, craning her neck upwards, squeaks up at Artoo in a way Poe tries not to call attention to. He has no idea what Familiars discuss and in this case, he's genuinely worried about asking. He falls in step beside King Skywalker, resisting the urge to remind Beebee to be polite.

For a time, they just walk. Long enough that Poe is frantically sorting through appropriate apologies in his own mind, stewing in his own nerves.

"Do you remember much of what the castle was like before the Immortal Emperor came?" Luke asks, taking Poe completely by surprise. 

"A little," Poe confesses. "I mostly remember the gardens and the mews. My parents-"

"I remember them," Luke says, sadly. "Kes was a guard captain, and your mother..."

He stops, as if worried that the memory is still too painful.

Poe remembers her hands over his own, guiding his touch on the straps of her big, red mount. The first time the ground had fallen away and Poe leaned back to feel her right there and reassuring. A different memory comes up out of the depths, overwhelming the bitter-sad thoughts of flight.

"There was a school," Poe says, the thought like a flash of metal underwater, blinking up and then resolving itself to clarity. "You taught it. For Jedi?"

Luke's gaze is distant when he nods.

Poe remembers something else. "I was friends with one of the students."

This seems to surprise Luke - though whether that's because Poe remembers at all or because he doesn't remember more, he keeps to himself.

"Do you remember when The Vader came?" Luke asks. "And the Immortal Emperor?"

Poe is unsure where this line of questioning is going. He remembers terror, that shadows had seemed to claim the castle. He remembers his mother rushing him and Beebee down into the dragon mews with her hands over his eyes and sending him away. The rest is chaos in his mind - a few images before the shock of grief.

"Some," Poe says, hesitant to dig too deeply into the tangle in his mind. He is functional as it is, they have won. The rest can sit undisturbed. Forever, as far as Poe's concerned. He remembers the accounts of others, instead. "A student betrayed you. That was how they struck us at our heart. It was thought that you both died as a result, as well as all the other students."

Luke looks at him, measuring something. Poe's sure that the king hasn't summoned him for a history lesson. There's a point he's reaching toward and it's some relief that it has nothing to do with Poe's current predicament. 

"How well do you remember Ben?" Skywalker asks.

The image comes up instantly. One of the King's students, about the same age as Poe. A solemn youth, he and Poe had become fast friends for a time. He hasn't thought about it in... a very long time. A sudden connection lances across the divide in his mind.

"Queen Leia's son," Poe realizes, now having all the pieces with which to assemble the picture. 

Luke nods.

"He died in the attack," Poe remembers, feeling the pang of sympathy he usually does when Leia speaks about her lost family as a personal one this time. He's had very little chance to grieve for his lost friends and his own family.

Luke nods nods again, distant. "In a way."

Poe's attention catches against that evasive answer and he risks a look at Luke directly. The King's serious, bearded face wears a sad expression now. Poe stays quiet, feeling no right to pry. With the Queen, he is a little more comfortable. He has known her for a couple of years now and before that by reputation and old stories. She was easy to know and admire.

King Skywalker has been gone for twenty years - a legend or a ghost. The aura of isolation still hangs around him, commanding respect - but also distance.

"Ben was the student who betrayed us," Luke reveals. 

Poe feels an immediate desire to refute this - not _Ben_ , not his friend.

"He was convinced that Fae magic was stronger, obsessed with it," Luke continues, as if unaware of Poe's turmoil. "When the promise was made to him of such power, he paid the cost, and betrayed us."

"You think the Immortal Emperor did this?" Poe asks, forgetting himself.

"I thought so then," Luke says. "But now I wonder. Palpatine already had a pawn; the Vader. Why seek out another?"

Poe stays quiet - the information is new to him. He'd been only eight at the time, too young to speculate on why any of it was happening.

"It's possible he needed someone expendable," Luke continues. "That he always intended for Ben to be lost in the coup."

Poe remembers the boy's dark eyes and unusually sober attitude. He remembers coaxing a laugh from Ben occasionally; how it seemed to flood him like relief, like fresh air after only stale fumes. _What a tragic waste of a soul._

"But something keeps pulling my attention back to it, my thoughts back to those last days," Luke says. "What was the original source of Fae magic? Palpatine was just a man - warped and twisted by the power he was using, but still human beneath all of that."

"He wasn't Fae?" Poe asks, surprised.

"They've been gone a thousand years," Luke says, by way of admission that he could be wrong. "But I saw a man's fear and a man's face beneath the Emperor's robes and the Vader's mask.

"So where did the Fae magic come from?" Poe asks, wrapped up in the story and his considerations to the point where he has to tack on, 'your Majesty,' in haste. 

Luke stops, looking ahead. They have come down past the steppes almost to the town outside the castle, stopping at the last tall wall that had failed to defend it from the most recent attack. He pauses, setting his hands on the old battlement and looking down at the recovering land below.

Poe follows his gaze and finds that the landscape is positively transformed - people are visible, living life in the town in a fearless and vivacious way. Tellingly, they never once look up in fear toward the castle where the Immortal Emperor had held tightly onto the reins of terror.

He smiles a little, reassured by the way life is resuming despite the serious tone of their conversation.

"My instincts tell me that we have not yet found the head of the dragon," Luke confides in Poe. "the re-emergence of Fae magic suggest to me that there is a plot in motion moving so slowly that the scope of it is disguised."

What man could have the patience for such a slowly ripening fruit? Poe looks down into the town and hops that this is not just a temporary peace.

-

Unsettled, Poe wonders why Luke shared these things with him, aside from warning him to keep his guard up. He should instead be warning his sister and daughter. Then, Poe recalls that Rey had seemed recently disturbed and prone to wander to the places that the Emperor's touch had landed the hardest within the castle.

"I hope you were polite to Artoo," Poe says, when Beebee rejoins him later, shoving the door into his private bath open rudely with her paws and face. He reaches out to close it carefully behind her, latching it this time.

- _I'm always polite,_ \- she asserts, investigating the pile of clean clothes laid out and waiting for him. - _Who are you trying to impress?_ -

He gives her a cool glance for the quick change of topic, but lets the matter rest. He could never truly know how she conversed with another familiar, or even with Black - he just has to rely on her reports and the results. "I'm not trying to impress anyone."

She snorts all over his clothes in a dismissive fashion.

Poe returns to the efforts of shaving, enjoying the chance to do so regularly now. "I'm just taking advantage of the fact that I don't have to dress like a soldier _all_ the time anymore."

Her sleek orange head pops up from her investigation of his intended extravagant dress to look at him with a knowing skepticism. She doesn't have to say anything.

"I can't want to look good without a motive?" he asks, face still half covered in shaving soap.

- _You_ can,- Beebee says, - _but that's not the case this time._ -

Poe sighs, but doesn't argue with her. "I just don't want to be _completely_ outshone at dinner."

Beebee hops up onto the vanity counter, positioning herself primly to the left of his mirror. Her small black eyes watch him knowingly before she echoes his deeper thoughts.

- _This isn't a night where you_ should _shine_ ,- Beebee says.

"It's not one to be an embarrassment either,' Poe mutters, working the blade in one long stroke beneath his chin. Much as he doesn't want to seem the ugly duckling in the room, no matter how much more practical it would be to wear his armor or flight leathers, he doesn't want to concede to the First Order ideal of eternal preparation - no matter how much the king had worried him.

"It's a ceremonial acceptance dinner," Poe continues. "I'll be damned if we've been through all we have for me to treat this like a weakness."

Beebee says nothing. Poe finishes shaving, reaching down to rinse the razor in the basin. 

- _Just so long as you don't get your hops of catching her eye up._ -

" _Anybody's_ eye," Poe assures her. "I know."

Beebee cocks her head at him, then dips her chin, once, accepting his word for it and adding,

- _You missed a spot._ -


	4. Chapter 4

_This,_ Poe thinks, _is what we fought for._ There is only a small irony in the thought - certainly the opulence of the dinner does not represent the ideals that had held the Resistance together, and the atmosphere of well-mannered politicking makes his skin feel almost too tight on his bones. For all that - the people are at least free to _do_ this, and hopefully conduct themselves honorably. 

- _This is so dull,_ \- Beebee observes, sitting on the back of Poe's chair and craning her neck to watch the nobles and other such important people make polite gestures with their silverware and cut miniscule pieces of excellent food. It means they will not be caught chewing for too long to give an answer. 

Poe, himself currently chewing on an over-large bite so as not to be forced into conversation with the rest of the table (currently discussing courtly matchmaking), can't answer her. She knows she has a captive audience. 

- _I think the Grand General is getting very drunk,_ \- she observes. Poe rudely looks - this he _has_ to see - and sure enough, General Hux looks remarkably pink over his nose and cheeks. He also, Poe notes with a private amusement, looks rigidly uncomfortable seated at the main table in full armor between the royal couple on one side and King Skywalker and Queen Leia on the other.

Poe isn't faring much better. On his left, a hulking Commander-Legionary (he believes she properly gave her name as Phasma, truly a first order name if Poe has ever heard one) and on his right, is an ancient and slow moving resistance Admiral. Poe is fond enough of Ackbar as a strategist, but as conversationalist the topics were usually fairly dry. The discussions on the two sides of the table don't mingle - like the mixed company. Oil and water.

Poe envies his fellow pilots, seated in common however they liked; now entertaining a group of rank-and-file storm troopers by telling flight stories.

- _You could be telling a story of your own,_ \- Beebee says. - _The woman looks like she could use a laugh._ -

Poe has to agree. Phasma looks like she feels as out of place in this stuffy atmosphere between the upper court and military heroes. Two modes of existence which at times seem exactly opposed. 

- _Tell the one about how you almost got caught when you had to land behind enemy lines to relieve yourself._ \- Beebee suggests. 

"You only like that one because it makes you look like a hero," Poe tells her, hardly thinking stories about him with his pants down are an appropriate fancy dinner ice-breaker.

Phasma looks at him and he realizes he's spoken aloud. Her blue-green eyes are filling with confusion and Poe hopes he hasn't given so intimidating a person offense.

"Uh," Poe says, failing all his usual charm. "Sorry, I'm-"

He gestures to the back of his chair only to find that Beebee has abandoned it.

"My familiar," he explains, lamely. "I'm sorry."

"I saw it leave," Phasma tells him, her voice deep and commanding for a woman's, accented in the crisp manner of the upper echelons of the First Order. She's buying his excuse - it _feels_ like an excuse, truth or not - at least. Now that she knows he means no insult, perhaps she's feeling as awkward and starved for a diversion as he is. Poe relaxes a little.

"I don't suppose we've met officially," Poe says. He has to lean back in his chair to meet her gaze. "I'm Poe Dameron."

She takes his offered hand, her leather gauntlet gentle but dwarfing his own hand and hinting at a real swordsman's power in the palm pressed to his. 

"I know," she says. "We... well-"

She sounds a little sheepish, apologetically making a small gesture and continuing, "we took you captive, once."

He remembers. He has no desire to relive those particular 'old days'.

She seems to realize, with the slow practicality of most First Order soldiers, that he might not want to be reminded. 

"You're Captain Phasma," Poe says carefully. "You were Finn's commanding officer?"

_This is like treading on half-melted ice,_ he thinks, paying close attention to her reaction.

She nods, short blonde bangs slipping free of their tightly pushed-back style in thin wisps. "FN - _Finn_ \- showed great promise from early on. He'll serve you well.

The setup drags Poe down into a ribald response that he gives even though he's half-intimidated by his company. Or, perhaps, _because_ of this.

"Well," he says, without any power to stop himself. "Technically, _I'll_ serve _him_ well."

He reaches for his glass of wine when she blushes at his innuendo - clearly she's enough of a soldier to know a double meaning - equally mortified by his inability to have even one conversation without inappropriate remarks.

"My mistake," she says, but dares a smile when she sees he needs encouragement.

Poe shakes his head. "No-No, don't worry about it. I'm sorry Captain. I forgot my place."

He tries a smile, her own answering one is unpracticed, but genuine. 

"I'm terrible at social events," she confides, seeming relieved to receive some honest friendliness. "I never know what to _say_ , especially to former enemies."

"I think everyone's flying by the seat of their pants," Poe assures her. "I'm no good at official events either. I've been sitting here listen to Beebee prattle..."

- _I'm what?_ \- Beebee demands, still somewhere unseen.  
"Beebee?" Phasma asks him, genuinely curious. 

"My familiar," Poe clarifies. He hopes she'll have gotten an education in the basics of how familiars and dragons are managed outside of First Order society. He's prepared to go over it again if he has to. With Phasma, it will probably go quickly. She's smart.

"The... weasel?" she guesses.

_She's a weasel alright,_ Poe thinks, before he makes a correction to prevent Beebee from becoming insulted. "Ermine, actually."

Phasma nods, accepting the correction. "Sorry. All First Order familiars are the same, er, form. They all look like dogs. The wider variety here takes some getting used to."

"Wait until you meet Threepio," Poe mutters. 

She looks inquisitive and Poe wishes he hadn't said anything, but he gestures discreetly at the high table.

Phasma follows his gesture. "The long sheep? That's a familiar? I thought it was some sort of pet... how does she fly with it?"

"Threepio's an alpaca," Poe says. "Sometimes a familiar is entirely unsuited for flying. They can still serve as interpreters for their bond-mates - to both dragons and other familiars. Sometimes they have other powers."

He tries to keep his tone as respectful as possible. The fretful, gold-fleeced Threepio drives everyone crazy at times except for Artoo.

Threepio drives Artoo crazy _all_ the time, but the First Order hardly needs to know that. They may be allies - but not the sort you'd give your dirty laundry to, yet. 

"I'm almost disappointed," Phasma tells Poe, smiling. "I thought you were going to tell me how you strapped that thing onto a dragon."

"Very carefully." Poe plays along - he likes her. For a First Order captain she has an air of genuine earnestness that is unusual. 

She laughs. Behind them, the music starts - apparently enough people have finished their dinners for the dancing to start. A hush falls on the room, and then the sounds of chairs getting pushed back to make room for people to see. Poe shoves his own chair back and turns it around in time to see Finn leading Rey down from their table, arm in arm.

All eyes are on the pair, and Poe briefly laments that even in his finest clothes, there's no chance at matching their brilliance. They seem utterly unaware of anything but each other, Finn looking down at Rey as if there's nothing else but her in the whole world. Maybe there isn't, in those seconds. Poe knows intimately the way her eyes light and shine when she's happy; the new depths they attain. At times, he has sunk into those places himself in moments of victory, feeling lost but full. They follow each other like a perfectly matched set across the dance floor. Finn has been practicing at dancing, too, Poe realizes.

_How can I worm my way into_ those _lessons?_ he thinks, jealously, as the pair shines together. Soft smiles grace their intent faces, and though the hall is silent, enraptured, it could erupt in a riot before they'd return from their world. A perfect fit.

It's then that Poe realizes it's really going to happen. His two closest friends, the two most beautiful people in _his_ world are going to marry each other. It's going to last. They're in love. For now, they may remember him, but in time they'll be so wrapped up in their life together that he knows he will fall away - there's nothing for him but his title and his old reputation.

Poe reaches for his drink when the first song ends and everyone else is clapping enthusiastically and he drains it. With the first dance finished, the rest of the attendees are free to join the royal couple. Even with all the commotion in the hall, the pair has yet to break orbit. The first dance, and every dance after will equally be theirs.

He turns to Phasma and offers his hand, supposing she'd intimidate the rest of the court not to receive many offers.

"Would you care to dance, Captain?" he asks.

Poe _almost_ regrets it when she gets to her feet and stands head-and-shoulders over him. Then she really smiles, and it's so genuine and pleased that any second thoughts fade. _They're all human under that armor after all,_ he thinks, glancing slyly at Finn.

On the way to the space cleared for dancing, Poe leans up on his toes to whisper and Phasma obliges him by leaning down to hear. 

"You'll have to lead," he confesses, without a single speck of shame. "My stride won't be long enough."

She laughs. She leads. _And_ , Poe notes with just a touch of surprise, _she's good at it._

-

Later, when Poe has surrendered his dance partner to the eager attendance of his wingmen ( _and women_ , he allows, seeing Jessica Pava beg a third dance from the flustered but delighted Phasma) he finds himself in a rare mood of melancholy. It seems everyone is willing to move forward behind the beacon-like examples of Finn and Rey. Even Luke and Leia have shared a familial and chaste waltz that amused Poe. For all that King Skywalker has a natural grace - and of course, an unparalleled talent with Jedi Magic - he is not an inspired dancer.

Leia retires from the dance floor afterward, returning to the high table by herself with Threepio pacing agitatedly behind her. After his third glass of wine, Poe has the courage to approach, even at the risk of rebuke. He thinks - Poe knows her well enough to be bold - he knows what's wrong.

"Can't anyone out there dance like Han did?" Poe asks, settling down in the chair next to hers. It's Finn's chair, and _he_ won't mind - or need it, the way he's still tirelessly leading Rey around in waltz after waltz. Poe suspects some of the court somewhere will mutter at his presumption. Let them.

"Nobody I've found," Leia laments, smiling at him without giving up her expression of deep, genuine mourning. "Luke sure as hell can't."

Poe leans his elbow on the table companionably, chin in palm in an entreating manner. "Would you like another audition?"

He hates to see her grief, though she has every right to it. Mostly, Poe wishes she did not have to handle it alone. It's not that he thinks she can't - 'can't' isn't a word he'd ever dare apply to Queen Organa - but that she should not have to.

Leia - his General of many years, confidant of some, and the Hero of his life - gives him a playful raking-over with her eyes. He knows that she does not mean it in earnest, because it doesn't evoke any desire to crawl under the table and make himself very small. Poe has seen men turn to mice in front of her; has received many such looks over his career of often-rash decisions.

"Knight-Commander Dameron, if you mean to ask a lady to dance," she says, her stately voice rife with authority. "Then you should _ask._ "

"May I have this dance?" Poe asks, his heart thumping at the recklessness, at his own sudden concern about rejection. Why would someone so important bother? But this risk is calculated. He knows his General, loves her, and she looks like she needs company.

Leia stands, and Poe's heart lifts too. He takes her hand.

"You're a lot like he was, you know," Leia tells Poe as he escorts her down the stairs off the raised platform the royal table sat on. He is always surprised when she stands next to him that she is several inches shorter. In his thoughts, in her own actions and deeds, she is a giant.

"Dashing, good looking, a hell of a pilot...?" he prompts, confidence bolstered by her acceptance.

"Hot-headed," she says wryly. "Impulsive, short-sighted, and scruffy looking."

Poe laughs. "I did put on my best clothes."

She gives him a sharp look.

"Not that I could ever make any claim to look half so elegant as my Queen," Poe adds.

"And he's charming," Leia says, as if to the air around them, now genuinely amused. "There's hope for you, yet."

This time, Poe can properly lead, though Leia challenges him for it - she does not dance at the sedate pace of the inexperienced or older dancers, and Poe chastises himself for trying to take it easy on her. 

No one took it easy on Leia Organa and survived. He holds his own, however, knowing all the steps, keeping up and then stepping up as the contest hones his focus. He feels better after his self pity burns off to just blank fixation for the few minutes it takes the song to complete, then the next, then they both retire back to the table, breathing faster.

"So I know what's eating _me_ ," Leia says, watching him sharply when he brings her a cup of very cold water. "But I can't imagine what's gotten to _you_."

Strangely, Poe feels none of the panic he'd felt before at the thought that _she_ might know. But, saying it out loud - _hey, it's nothing, I just think I'm completely in love with_ both _of my best friends-slash-future monarchs, and not in a platonic 'I love you buddy' way_ \- seems impossible.

"There's a court full of eligibles down there," Leia continues, "And I know you like company."

He hesitates long enough that she figures it out on her own. "Ah," she says, "matters of the heart. Have you finally decided to settle down?"

"Well," Poe stalls.

"I thought I'd never see the day," she continues breezily. "All this peace must have gotten to your head."

"Well-" Poe tries.

"Are you lamenting all your lost opportunities for future liaisons?" She asks, rhetorically. "Your mother did, too, you know. Before she settled down with Kes."

" _Well_ -"

"She had better sense than you," Leia continues over him, seeming to take a deliberate sort of cheer from delaying Poe's excuses and lies about how he is fine - that's not it - other such platitudes. "But I'm confident you'll grow into it."

She pauses, looking at him from the corner of her eye as if daring him to try fibbing to her again.

Poe considers his answer carefully this time, aware of how nervous his grin must look. Finally he gives up and rests his chin on his fist. "You got me."

"I _know_ ," Leia says. "You can't fool me, I knew your mother."

She knows _him_ , too. He'd grown up in her Republic after the Immortal Emperor had come here. However, she doesn't pry like someone his own age might for details. He hopes she keeps it to herself. If she discusses it with her niece, Poe won't get a moment's rest until she's either dragged the truth out of him or he's concocted a convincing enough lie. 

"Alright," Leia says, with finality. "You're a decent dancer. Get back out there, kid."

A compliment and a dismissal in the same breath. _Typical._ Poe lifts himself out of the chair at Leia's side and tries not to trip over Threepio as he makes his retreat, carrying his wine glass with him. He sees no sign now of several prominent figures. King Skywalker has retired either to the balcony or altogether, and the Grand General is also missing - perhaps to begin the arduous process of sleeping off his hangover. Poe believes he'd seen Phasma supporting Grand General Hux out the side door perhaps a half an hour prior. 

Poe wonders if he might escape, too. There are guards stationed, currently looking bored or anxious to be missing the fun even as the ball is winding down. None have had anything to deal with except drunk patrons. Poe feels secure in retiring - and perhaps conducting a surreptitious and surprise patrol of the other parts of the castle. Just in case. 

Poe sets his sights on the door when a thought nags at him... _where is Beebee?_ He hasn't seen her since she'd abandoned him at supper. Long enough for some serious trouble, knowing his familiar as he does. He casts his eyes over the ballroom for any sign of her. At first he sees nothing. Threepio is unmistakable and several other familiars are spread through the hall, sticking close to their bond-mates. 

Then, finally when his eyes ease over Rey's figure, he spots Beebee's black-tipped orange tail protruding from her carefully styled hair. Poe sighs, reminding himself to have a talk in private with his familiar about such casual behavior in public. It implies - well. It's just not proper to be too _familiar_ with someone else's familiar, unless you had a certain sort of relationship.

Poe steps back between the dancing figures to retrieve her, certain that the seneschal will be by his quarters at some time in the future to go over all his protocol violations for this evening. He approaches the princess without any hesitation, however, apologetically interrupting her conversation with several nobly born girls from the court. He hopes to make his intrusion quick.

"Poe!" she says brightly, and he recognizes his cue.

"Sorry to trouble you, Princess, but may I borrow you for a moment?" he asks, lifting his arm for her to take so he can help facilitate her escape.

She takes it, lifting one hand to tuck under Poe's elbow and the other to her opposite shoulder to lay on Beebee's back steadying her as Rey begins to move. Poe feels the touch almost as if it's on his own skin.

"I thought they'd never stop," she whispers to him as they move away.

"Uninteresting conversation?" he prompts, keeping his voice to an undertone.

"Wedding plans," she says, flatly, rendering the subject into unpleasant business with her tone.

Poe chuckles in disbelief, and she gives him a dirty look to rival any of Queen Leia's, stopping his laughter cold. He clears his throat. 

"Well, they're excited," he says.

"So am I, but the wedding isn't for months yet. I can't be expected to talk about it for _that_ long, surely," she growls, frustrated. Poe does not dare laugh again. She's as cut out for courtly life as _he_ is, clearly. "Where are we going?"

"I'm not sure," Poe admits. "Away from your adoring entourage and their matrimonial discussions."

"If you see Finn, take me to him," Rey commands, then seems to remember Poe's initial approach. "What do you really need?"

"I was going to go to bed," Poe says. "I needed to retrieve Beebee."

- _I was enjoying myself._ \- Beebee protests, yawning. Despite her words, she makes the leap into Poe's care, trusting him to catch her as he does.

"I know you were," he tells his familiar. He hasn't forgotten her trick from earlier.

"You were going to go without offering your princess a dance?" Rey asks, challenging him.

Poe's heart aches a little. He _wants_ to. "Well, that's not really my place."

"The one time we get you all dressed up," Rey laments, "and suddenly you're worried about your place."

- _Well,_ \- Beebee says smugly. - _She noticed._ -

"I couldn't," he says. "Finn-"

"Finn, though I love him dearly, abandoned me to those tweeting birds," she says, in a firm tone. She takes Poe's lifted, defensive hands and for the second time that evening Poe finds himself swept into a dance he isn't leading. He has little choice but to dance and try not to look like a graceless clod. 

Rey is an excellent dancer, but not as good as Leia. Either that or she's tired and taking it easy on him. He's tired too, and a little dizzy from wine, so he makes no protest.

"You should dress up more often," Rey says, her voice still bright but with a tired edge, as if she were a much younger girl. Poe remembers just how big a gap of years lies between them. Poe isn't sure why Luke left her alone out there, but she is as strong as a woman twice her age. For that, he feels some sadness. She should have had this all along - castles and parties and protection.

"It's not practical to fly in," Poe says, aware of her hand at the small of his back, guiding. His own are on her shoulder, and twined his left hand with her right and lifted, making sweeping gestures together. She's assertive, not light on her feet.

"I've seen you fly in less suitable things," she reminds. Poe flushes.

"You're never going to let anyone forget that," he laughs, on the verge of an embarrassed sob. 

She looks wickedly at him. "Just you."

"Of course," he says, looking forward to it. At least it means she'll be thinking of him. Of the past. It makes him feel a little more connected.

When the music ends, he bows, leading her back to Finn as promised.

"Thank you for dancing," she says, before leaning up to kiss Finn's cheek. Poe leaves them together, happy and glowing.

Finding nothing amiss in the halls, he returns to his room and swings the door closed, getting into bed without even bothering to take off all of his finery. He's had enough wine for the faint, sleepy buzz of intoxication to reach up eagerly for him.

"Beebee," he asks,a s she curls up next to him on the pillow in a trim, round ball. "Do you remember Ben Solo?"

She hesitates, going still in surprise. Finally, she says, - _go to sleep._ -

It's a strange answer from her, but she closes her small black eyes like that's the end of it, and they both sleep.

-


	5. Chapter 5

Poe wakes suddenly in the middle of the night, certain that something is amiss. He sits up sharply, Beebee giving a startled yelp when he upsets her as he throws the covers back. He's sure that danger is imminent. Poe grabs his swords and nothing else, swinging his own door open silently and stepping into the dark hallway with bare steel ready.

Beebee untangles herself from the blankets on the floor, _radiating_ her displeasure. 

- _Again?_ \- she demands, upset by the disruption from sound sleep. - _This is the third time this week!_ -

He doesn't spare the breath to shush her, not daring to make a sound. He creeps barefoot up the empty-seeming hallway, every sense on alert. There is silence and darkness, the full deepness of night to welcome Poe. 

Otherwise, nothing seems amiss. Carefully, he pads up the hall toward the royal chambers, the stone floor cold on the soles of his feet. 

- _There's_ nothing _out there, Poe,_ \- Beebee chastises him. - _Just like the last two times!_ -

She's probably right but he won't dismiss his instincts. He hadn't lived through the war by being incautious. Poe continues until he can see into Rey's antechamber, where the reassuring shape of her large guard dog looms sleeping in front of the fireplace. He raises his head alertly when Poe steps into view, and Poe makes a soothing motion with his empty hand.

The first night, he'd woken the bemused Princess to search her quarters for an assailant they'd found no sign of. He doesn't intend to interrupt her sleep again. If Chewbacca is unconcerned, Poe is sure that Rey is safe. 

So why is he here in the hallway in nothing but the loose pants he sleeps in, carrying his sword?

- _You woke me up!_ \- Beebee accuses him, glaring angrily up at him when he returns to his room.

"I woke me up, too," Poe says, as the adrenaline begins to fade out of his system.

- _You threw me on the floor,_ \- Beebee sulks.

Poe stoops to pick up the pile of blankets from the floor, now cold and un-welcoming. He throws them back onto the bed. 

"I'm sorry," he tells Beebee earnestly. He reaches down, offering to pick her up, and she only hesitates for a moment before she steps into his hands. "I didn't mean to throw you off."

He runs a soothing hand down her back to calm them both, climbing into bed again.

- _Apology accepted,_ \- she allows, settling onto his chest so he can keep up the soothing motion of petting her. He feels his respiration slow, and her eyes eventually close again as she settles down to sleep.

What keeps waking him? Why is he so sure, when the days are proceeding so well, that something dangerous is coming at night? 

- _You're upset about the wedding_ \- Beebee informs him, without opening her eyes. - _Of course you feel anxious, you're being left behind._ -

"I'm not," Poe mutters, but there's no arguing with his own bond-mate.

- _Of course you're not,_ \- she agrees, - _but it feels that way._ -

She's right. She usually is. Poe doesn't know what he can do about it.

- _Don't wake me up tomorrow night!_ -

-

The feeling continues to haunt Poe, that sensation that _something_ is coming. His companions seem oblivious. 

"We need to borrow you," Finn tells him, arriving at the mews with a basket it takes two hands to hold onto and Rey, beaming, behind him. 

"Oh?" Poe asks, leaning on his broom - the mews need frequent attention, a duty that all pilots take a hand in, much like a traditional stables.

"Come on a picnic with us," Rey says, excitedly, pleased with her own clever solution. 

Poe looks at her, then back at Finn. He understands the situation quickly.

"You need a ride," he says.

They don't flinch, but Rey nods and Finn asks, "Is that okay? Will Black mind?"

"No," Poe says, answering the second question first. "He never minds a chance to stretch his wings."

_And_ , Poe thinks, _I'm a trusted guard, a chaperone._ He sighs - he didn't want to spend all day sweeping up discarded scales and dust anyway. 

"Beebee?" he calls, looking for his familiar. She appears from a recess along one wall where there is storage for harnesses and repair supplies. There's a freshly dead mouse in her mouth that's easily as big as her head.

- _Yes?_ \- she asks. Poe still feels like the mental communication should sound muffled when she has her mouth full, though he knows that's illogical. 

"Would you call Black, please?" Poe asks. Rey adds an encouraging smile when Beebee sweeps her gaze toward the rest of the room. 

She drops the dead mouse, clearly happy to abandon her duties by royal decree. - _Yup!_ -

Poe retrieves the carcass when he puts the broom up. It's limp and bloodless. Beebee is all business about pest control.

"Rey, we'll need the big harness," he tells her. "Finn, make sure that basket's tied closed or it'll be a short picnic." 

Though they both outrank Poe they spring to action, Rey fetching down the long, full body harness they'll need for all four of them, Beebee included, and Finn checking the basket for flight soundness. It'll be close quarters, but the trip will be fairly short. To the lake, Poe thinks, feeling as eager to be out of the castle for a while as his friends.

Black descends through opening at the top of the mews like a silent shadow, landing exactly on the target mark where young pilots learn,a nd Poe disposes of the mouse into the dragon's mouth. He tosses, Black catches, long teeth clicking together only once. he hardly has to chew so small a morsel.

"Alright, harness on top, basket on the bottom," Poe instructs, risking a stroke beneath Black's chin and trusting Beebee to keep the dragon in line as they gear up. With two extra sets of hands even the more complicated harness goes on quickly.

He double checks all the buckles and straps, then makes a cup with his joined hands for Rey to step up into and lifts her onto the front of the saddle, then helps Finn onto the furthest seat in the back where his weight can go between Black's strong shoulders.

It puts Poe squarely in the middle, with Finn's strong chest against his back and Rey leaning into him comfortably. He immediately regrets this. Then, Black launches enthusiastically skyward and the flight - the rush of cool air that none of them are dressed for and the thrill of the ground dropping away below them is distracting enough that he can leave his worries behind.

Rey lets out an exultant whoop, raising her arms overhead, while Finn's grip tightens around Poe's middle as Black dips one wing to turn his course toward the lake.

The land stretches out below them, the water of the lake glittering in the afternoon sun. Poe guides them down in a secluded meadow, where they can still hear the water moving sedately against the shore. 

"It's perfect," Rey tells Poe appreciatively. They get the basket free, and a small series of wonders produce out of the depths.

As Finn and Rey spread a checkered blanket over the ground, idyllic in the setting, Black settles down half in the shade at the edge of the clearing. Poe stretches out in the space between his forelegs, leaning back against Black's chest.

Unobtrusive, Poe thinks, but near enough to serve the purpose of guard and chaperone. Not that the latter was truly required. Poe has already made up his mind to turn a blind eye to any slips - they're both adults who have been through more in their lives than people should have to endure.

The rest is no one else's business but theirs. Poe folds his hands over his chest and gets comfortable, feeling sleepy already. He supposes the nights of interrupted sleep are getting to him.

He drifts, sleeping too deeply too quickly for real dreams. Instead, he dreams in half formed images, emotions that twist rapidly between peace and panic, the plunge into a thrill becoming the descent into fear.

When he wakes it feels like an age has past, a Rip Van Winkle sleep. The sun is still high, however, and Black's hide is warm from soaking it in. As he moves, something slides down off his head and over his eyes, soft and scented.

He reaches up and pulls a woven ring of orange marigolds into his hands from his head, somewhat confused by its presence.

"What?" Poe asks, looking up at Black as if the crown of flowers is _his_ fault. The dragon cracks one orange eye and seems to scowl down at him.

- _Oh, you're up,_ \- Beebee calls into his mind from somewhere unseen.

The blanket is still spread and covered in the remains of the picnic, but Finn and Rey aren't in the clearing. Poe sits up suddenly, the top of his head colliding with the underside of Black's tucked chin.

- _We're down at the lake,_ \- Beebee reassures him. - _I would have woken you if there was any danger._ -

Poe picks himself up more carefully this time, rubbing his head, holding the discarded flower crown absently in one hands. He ducks through the underbrush and heads toward the lake. He can hear calm voices, and then splashing water, and the normality of o it puts him at ease. Life in the Resistance hadn't been utterly devoid of downtime, though real luxuries were short at hand. 

He pushes his way past the branches and out onto the beach. Poe expects that they will have stripped down to their unders to swim - expects to find them enrwrapped in their own little world, splashing and teasing.

Instead, they have their arms around each other, pressed close in a far more intimate embrace. A moment of perfect stillness that Poe recognizes as the prelude to a kiss - to their _first_ kiss, if Poe knows anything about it.

His traitorous heart makes a mutinous protest in his chest as they lean in together, and it's all Poe can do to tear his jealous gaze away. Or course he's been expecting it, at the wedding if nowhere else. But he isn't _ready_ for it, clearly. For the guilty feeling of witnessing something that can't ever belong to him, whether it was by mistake or because they trusted him.

Poe stiffens his back, calling himself to task. He's too old to let his demeanor falter over a kiss. He turns and goes back to the clearing to give them time together, making a point of packing the items very carefully back in the picnic basket. When he returns to the beach again, they've drawn apart, but they have the flushed and starry-eyed look of the recently amorous. 

"Won't you swim?" Rey asks, when Poe settles on the sand, making his presence known this time.

"No," Poe says, a little sharper and colder than he intends. Telling himself that frigidity will cool the heat behind his ribs to something manageable, Poe holds onto it, trying to keep his tone level. "We should go back soon. I have chores to complete and flying wet after the sun has set will be cold." 

Finn and Rey trade looks, and Poe simply picks himself up off the beach again, wishing he could better hide his emotions.

For the ride home, Poe sits in the back, apologizing to Black for the difficult way the weight is arranged but knowing he should never be between them again.

-


	6. Chapter 6

Poe takes an extra patrol rotation the next day, citing a need for his wing-mates to get some extra R&R now that the peace between the Skywalkers and the First Order is secured. He sees Leia home, back to the seat of her republic council which is still rebuilding itself after the war.

After this, he thinks, must begin the routine of the rest of his life. The thought is fairly maddening. He's not cut out for routine - the same events, day in and day out?

"What I wouldn't give for a First Order trap to break up the monotony," he tells Beebee, yawning as they wind up their evening patrol. As expected, there's no sign of anything amiss. No armies massing at the borders, no blight. Not even anything so exciting as bandits on the main road.

- _You don't really mean that_ \- Beebee tells him. Protesting the cold, she has left her usual place of lookout on Black's neck and crawled into his flight jacket, huddled against his chest in a warm ball. - _You don't want to have to be on your toes for the rest of your life._ -

"I always _expected_ to be," Poe says, truthfully. The war seemed eternal when he was in the middle of it. Unending. he'd never expected to find a well of dissent inside the First Order, never expected them to capitulate. After that, the tide had turned. 

"Did you ever feel like the war ended _too_ quickly and easily?" he asks.

- _No._ \- she says, simply.

Poe supposes she has a point. Both sides have lost a lot to get here - suffering in casualties and misery to bring all of this about. It's just that when it started, all those years ago, it seemed bigger somehow. As when it escalated, just prior to the Immortal Emperor Palpatine's fall, Poe had expected fire and fury and power.

That never materialized. So, if it's all over, where was Palpatine's power from? Why did he overplay his hand?

Poe pulls Black's harness off in the mews, turning him loose for the evening. He's been flying for hours. Poe's taken on Snap's afternoon rounds as well as his own evening patrol. He _should_ get into bed and ready for a repeat tomorrow. 

Instead, he heads to the library without so much as taking off his flight leathers. He finds an old tome on the Fae, a history of an older and more savage world before the establishment of the Kingdoms and the rise of the druidic Jedi.

The paper is aged and cracking, and Poe handles it with care. Long ago,t he cruel and capricious Fae had considered themselves rulers of the land. Mankind served primarily for their entertainment, or so it seemed from what was written, and one did not usually _want_ the attention of the Fae. Though a few stories hinted that some would share their power with mortals for seemingly benevolent reasons, in the end it always seems that their goals were the most furthered by such interferences. 

They are fairy tales, he thinks. It reads more like myth or legend than any more recent history. But, for all that, the tales pull him in. Here was a story of babes switched at birth and human children raised in the Fae court while their Fae counterparts terrorized their families; then a tale of a man given the gift of immortality. It had pleased him immensely until he realized he was still aging.

Poe is just turning the page for the next story when he becomes aware of the Seneschal - leader of courtly affairs. _Herder of very well-bred sheep_ , Poe thinks uncharitably. 

Considering ignoring the dour older man altogether, Poe at last decides it's better to face the music faster. It's late enough now that he feels the pull of sleep.

"Knight-Commander Dameron," Seneschal Tarkin says, in his coldest but most polite tone. Poe looks up to meet his unwavering gaze. "May I have a word with you?"

_Can I say 'no' without getting into more trouble?_

Poe closes the book carefully, responding aloud. "Seneschal Tarkin. What can I do for you?"

"It's come to my attention that the Princess and her fiancee were out of the castle for some time yesterday," Tarkin begins. His voice is calm and even, and yet conveys a dry displeasure. "I am informed that you were with them."

"Uh huh," Poe says. He's waiting for a description of what it is about this scenario that the Seneschal finds inappropriate.

Tarkin steps into the library properly, trapping Poe behind the desk and lowering his tone.

"Knight-Commander, though I am sure your heart is in the right place," Tarkin explains with such condescension that it gets Poe's back up immediately. "We wouldn't want to project an image that allows any doubt about the... _appropriateness_ of the match."

"Uh huh," Poe says, without masking his sceptical tone.

"It's better if they remain where they are safe," Tarkin continues.

"From?" Poe prompts.

"Rumors. Suspicions. No one would want to think the First Order would take advantage of the future Queen's trust..."

Poe can't believe this. "Are you saying that you think Finn is a spy?"

Tarkin looks shocked by the very thought. "Not at all, Knight-Commander."

"Then what _are_ you saying?" Poe asks, tired of his skirting around any sort of direct subject.

"That an appropriate environment will help discourage any untoward advances, of course," Tarkin says, as if that answer should be obvious.

"And those would be?" Poe demands, flatly.

"I think you know. After all, General Finn is a young man and-"

Poe stands up abruptly. He's heard enough. Tarkin stops talking.

"Look," Poe says. "You want a guard with them, that I get. But I am not a babysitter, and sure as hell not a _jailor_. I won't imprison them in the damn castle because you think they might do something you don't like."

"But they might have-" Tarkin begins, facing up to Poe.

"Sex?" he asks. "They're going to be _married_. If you arranged this match thinking he might take advantage of her, I'd hit you myself and you'd _still_ be wrong."

Poe's hands are fists pushing against the top of the desk, his voice raising. "I'm tired of having to tiptoe around like people are made of glass. Rey can take care of herself, and Finn would never do anything she didn't want, and if you don't like it you can shove it up your-"

- _Poe!_ \- Beebee scolds him, cutting off his tirade before he can get himself into real trouble. She sounds sharply disapproving.

Seneschal Tarkin does not look any more pleased with Poe's response. In fact, he regards Poe with the same narrow eyed displeasure he trained on unpleasant or suspicious stains in the upholstery. Poe is an inconvenience, something to be scrubbed clean and presentable. 

"Are you quite finished?" Tarkin asks him. Despite Poe's threats, he does not look threatened. 

Poe _isn't_ , he has lots that he'd like to say to Tarkin. However, as good as it feels to vent his frustrations out on the man, Poe is only attacking a convenient target.

"Yeah," Poe says, looking down and away. Knowing that he has just proved every unkind thought the Seneschal has about him correct. "I'm done."

The seneschal lets the silence hang for an extremely long, uncomfortable moment.

"Knight-Commander if you are incapable of adhering to your orders, I might suggest a half-dozen of your comrades better suited to a command position," Tarkin threatens. 

Beebee, unwilling to tolerate such insult to her bond-mate, pours out of Poe's jacket with her fur bristling and her tail raised, baring her needle-sharp teeth at Tarkin.

- _There's no one better suited!_ -

Tarkin's gaze barely flicks to her, unimpressed by her tiny fury and unable to hear her adamant statement.

"I understand," Poe says.

"I am _certain_ you'll understand when I phrase it this way - any future such outings are to be cleared with either myself or the King," Tarkin says. "Or else I'll see to it you are grounded for a _very_ long time."

-

For a week, Poe manages to avoid his problem. He keeps his head down, flies his rounds, and stays busy enough that he sleeps the night through, staying awake only long enough to be lulled by Chewbacca's steady snoring. 

"Beebee, look at this," he says, pointing to the book sprawled open over his knees.

- _Another fairy tale,_ \- she says, looking at the illustration under his fingertip.

It is of a huge figure in a robe as black as night and as bedecked in stars as the sky, standing over a group of terrified men below. Black flames spring up behind the giant, and blue magic pours from his fingertips onto the helpless figures at his feet.

"It may be embellished," Poe says. "But we know magic is real."

- _What is it?_ \- Beebee asks, coming down from his shoulder to get a closer view.

"The Fae King," Poe explains. "There's a lot of stories about how he would offer magic to mortals, always with a catch of some kind, and it always worked out bad for whoever he 'favored'."

- _Why would people trust a Fae?_ \- Beebee asks, putting one delicate orange paw on the picture of a tormented man at the Fae King's feet.

"Well," Poe says, tracing the jagged blue lines radiating from the Fae King's fingertips. "Power is a promise that some men can't resist..."

Beebee considers this. She looks up at Poe, her beetle-black eyes assessing him.

- _Is that what you want?_ -

"Why would I want power?" he asks, surprised by her question.

- _Why else are you reading so many stories about how people got it?_ -

"Just trying to understand something," Poe says.

Beebee turns around in his lap to look at him fully. Her sharp eyes seem to look right into him, though she hardly needs to guess his thoughts.

- _You think someone promised Ben power?_ \- she asks, driving to the heart of the issue with precision.

"I think a lot of Fae magic has surfaced again suddenly. A lot of people are _getting_ power under unusual circumstances," Poe says. "It's gotta be coming from somewhere.

- _The Jedi have magic,_ \- Beebee reminds. - _It wasn't given to them._ -

"No," Poe says. "They're born with it, it passes through the family."

- _Maybe Palpatine's power was the same,_ \- she suggests.

"Maybe it was," Poe says, wishing they could get answers. "But I doubt it."

-

Poe wakes that night from a much different sort of dream, the heat radiating out of his body and his muscles covered in sweat. Phantom touches flee his thoughts, and this time he doesn't spring up from the bed. Instead, he looks up at the dark canopy overhead and questions every decision he's made in his life.

Sighing, he lifts himself out of bed carefully, catching the book before it falls on the floor and setting it on the nightstand. He leaves Beebee undisturbed on her pillow and goes to splash water on his face at the ewer until the heat fades. At the least, the images had been half formed and indistinct. It's been worse for Poe, there have been days when he's had to avoid their gazes or their company altogether.

Not that he hasn't been since the picnic. Right now, it's just easier to keep his distance, to do his job as if he is a stranger. They are preoccupied.

Poe listens to the night-sounds of the castle. Everything seems magnified. He can hear the wind through the trees on the grounds below, the hearth fire in the royal chambers. Something nags at his awareness, dragging Poe out of his meditation. He rests his hands on the stone basin and listens. _What's missing?_

Beebee sits up from his blankets, her head stretched to the very end of her long neck, ears pointed forward. - _Something's wrong._ -

"Didn't you scold me for feeling this way just last week?" Poe mutters, reaching for his sword anyway.

He realizes that what he _can't_ hear is the periodic loud snores of the guard dog. Poe draws his sword and stalks through the hallway to the royal chambers.

Rey's room is first - along the right side of the upstairs hallway, the left being open to the air above a railing that faces the private hall below. Poe opens the door into the small, defensible vestibule of Rey's room, cautious. The door into the main chamber is open, revealing the hearth and the empty rug in front of it.

A thrill of adrenaline pours through Poe, shaking the last vestiges of sleep out of his system. He grips his sword tighter, stepping further into her sitting room. He cans sense Beebee behind him, creeping just as carefully over the floor.

The shadows seem to darken as Poe crosses the room, as if the fire is dying. He wants to call out - _should_ , before invading the sanctuary of the Princess' bedroom, but he is certain enough that _something_ is wrong that he doesn't' want to spook any attackers into rash actions.

He tries the latch - the door is unlocked. It opens into absolute darkness. Poe stops, listening for the sound of Rey's breath, looking for the light that should be coming through the window. Beyond the doorway, there is nothing.

Venturing into the darkness, Poe keeps his sword down and to his side, thinking of all his spars with Finn. He hopes they've done him some good. The carpet is soft under his bare feet, silencing his footsteps. His eyes adjust. In the darkness, he can see something is wrong with the window. Blocking the light.

_Where on earth is the dog?_

Poe moves forward, trying to decipher the figure in the window - if it is a figure. The shadow is tall and still; utterly inhumanly unmoving. It is not quite human - a helmet perhaps. A suit of armor? Was he sneaking around the princess' bed chamber because he's scared of the _decor_?

The figure has one hand extended, the visor of the mask in place but the head angled toward the bed. Poe steps closer, wary.

A small pained gasp reaches his ears, muffled but unmistakably Rey's, and then the figure moves. A weapon - a magical weapon - comes to life in his hand. The blade fills the room with harsh red light, aflame.

Poe raises his sword in the instant before the figure - clothed in black armor underneath a dark cloak and almost impossibly tall - strikes. His strength seems impossible and Poe's parry is slammed aside, the impact rattling up his bare arms all the way to his teeth.

Then the blade is coming again, fierce red flames screaming through the air, and Poe drags himself back up, lifting his blade.

This time, the magical weapon cleaves through the steel as if it were a folded paper weapon and bites deeply into Poe's shoulder, driving him to his knees. He's aware of his own shouting, then, the raw feeling of his own voice in his throat but he feels no immediate pain from the wound. Just the shock of impact and the strength behind it forcing him down. All of his fight instincts kick in.

The man in black steps back, spinning his blade as he lifts it and Poe looks up, getting a clear impression of the helmet at last. I t covers the whole face, the eyes hidden behind blank black goggles, like holes in the world itself. The full fury of the black knight's anger bears down on Poe, and he throws the hilt of his broken blade up at the creature to try and deflect the blow he knows is coming. 

The black knight hesitates - not long, but enough that Poe sees it. Enough that he can lunge up and drive his shoulder into the Knight's stomach. He hears a motion behind him, and then Rey is there too, lancing out with her staff to deal the knight a solid blow in the chest, but her weapon hits only air and smoke and the resistance holding Poe up vanishes. The smoke pours out of the Princess' open window, and vanishes into the shadows.


	7. Chapter 7

Poe wakes in his own room with Beebee urgently calling into his mind and Healer Kalonia peering down at him. For an instant, he worries that the wound is worse than he thinks, carrying some curse with it that puts his life in danger.

He doesn't _feel_ like he's dying. In fact, the wound barely hurts and he feels foggy and slow with whatever painkillers he's been given.

"Did you catch it?" he manages to ask, scanning the room for signs of the Black Knight or Rey. Seeing neither, he is ambushed by worry. "Is Rey okay?"

"The Princess is alright," the healer assures him. "She wasn't harmed."

- _You were though, you idiot!_ \- Beebee scolds him worriedly. Her dark, cold nose presses against his neck. - _I was so scared!_ -

The small crown of her head impacts Poe's cheek with surprising force and Poe lifts his good hand to stroke her fur and ease her worries.

"It's not the worst I've had," he tries to reassure her, but the healer either mistakes the statement for a question or sees it as an opportunity.

"It will heal with proper time and attention," she says, "but you're not to tax yourself at all for a time, and no flying for at least a month."

"A month?" Poe protests, trying to sit up. "I have patrols. I can't be grounded for a month. The other pilots-"

"The other pilots have agreed to rearrange their duties to cover yours," Kalonia says firmly, pushing him back toward his pillows. "If you strain that shoulder too much now, it will never heal right."

She looks at him sternly, the very image of matronly authority. Poe is too old to listen to his mother, but the dizziness quiets him as effectively as her words might have. 

"What'd you give me?" he asks, sinking back down on the bed.

"Bacta tincture and Poppy for the pain," she tells him curtly.

"Rey is really alright?" he asks, feeling suddenly exhausted again. "He was... there was _magic_ in the Black Knight."

"Black Knight?" the healer asks, confused. "You mean the attacker?"

Poe's thoughts feel staggering and slow as he tries to think about it, to form the concept into words that seemed important even as they eluded him. "Yes. He was using magic on the princess."

"He used a bit of it on you, too, I'd say." Kalonia says. He can't tell if she's just humoring him. "I've never seen anything like that wound of yours."

Poe swallows, trying to get words together to insist on... to insist-

even his thoughts lose urgency as sleep reaches back up to claim him. Helpless, Poe surrenders to it.

-

The next time he wakes, he's in better company, aware of Rey and Finn's voices as he makes the slow climb up from sleeping. It's comforting.

"Will there really be new stars in the sky after the ceremony?" Finn asks. "Or is that metaphorical?"

"Magic," Rey assures him, sounding delighted by the prospect. "A new constellation will appear as the symbol of a strong union."

"Wow," Finn says, amazed. "That's - really special. Did you ever expect anything like that when you were little?"

Rey laughs. "Hardly, I made a living by hunting and scavenging. I certainly never believed I was _somebody_."

"How about you?" she asks, after a pause. "How did you picture your future when you were little?"

"I'm not sure you want to know," Finn says. "It's a little different in the First Order."

"I know a little," Rey protests. "Surely you didn't just dream of the standard match-by-strength thing?"

"Well," Finn says, temporizing. "I knew I wanted to marry someone very strong. That part came true."

"Smooth," Poe interjects, feeling guilty for overhearing as much of the conversation as he has, and hoping not to intrude on something more intimate. "That was very smooth, buddy, you're learning."

"Poe!" Rey exclaims.

They both abandon his desk, Rey sliding off the top and Finn getting out of his chair, and come to his bedside.Poe sits up,t he blankets feeling heavy all of a sudden. His friends surrounding him with concerned expressions makes him feel frail.

Finn takes his hand and Rey puts her arms around his neck, holding onto him tightly enough that his shoulder aches and making a relieved sound into his ear.

"I was so worried," she sighs. 

The contact is reassuring, grounding Poe. He welcomes it, for the brief moment its given, pulling his good arm around Rey's back and squeezing Finn's fingers.

"What was that thing?" Poe asks, when they draw back. He misses the contact already, but forces himself to let go of Finn's hand.

"I'm not sure," Rey says, looking toward Poe's window as if seeking the outline of the figure in her memory. "He was strong with the Force. With magic."  
"Fae magic?" Poe asks, with sudden insight.

"Mm," Rey says, indecisively. "I don't know. It wasn't familiar - not like I faced when we took on the Vader."

He doesn't like the sound of that. He'd been reminded, too, by the black figure. He'd hoped it was just a happenstance, a trick of the heavy shadows in the room. He'd felt - well, he'd felt some spark of recognition that he could hardly explain. And hadn't the figure hesitated?

"So we don't know what it was," Finn puts in. "But you stopped it. Thank you."

"Of course," Poe says. He looks at Rey, seeking any sign of injury. "What was it doing?"

"Prying into my thoughts," she says, looking away. "He was looking for something - some answer to a question."

Her tone and gaze are distant. Like she's trying to remember something that she knows is there but can't see. 

"Do you think he got it?" Poe asks.

She shakes her head. "You interrupted him. I could feel him - some of his emotions - in my thoughts. He was angry when you came in. He lost his focus."

"That's a relief," Poe says. "He can't have been after anything good."

Rey doesn't disagree with him, but she seems unable to elaborate on what the Black Knight was after.

"I've been having a bad feeling for some time," she confesses." I thought I was just going crazy. that the war was still alive somewhere inside me and I couldn't let go."

It seems so familiar that when Finn adds, 'yeah, me too,' Poe almost feels as if he's spoken the words himself.

"Nice to know my instincts are still good," Finn adds.

"I woke up a few times last week," Poe admits, "and checked on you."

"You woke me," she remembers. "I felt it, too."

"Where is your dog?" Poe asks, suddenly remembering what had clued him in to the real danger this time.

Rey makes a face. "He somehow fit himself _under_ my bed when that thing came in. Some guard."

"Don't be too hard on him," Poe says. "If we ever see that thing again I can't promise _I_ won't try and hide under the bed."

He winces for show, though his arm does hurt and he makes no attempt to move it to keep it from becoming worse. Rey chuckles without humor at his attempt for a joke. Finn looks at him seriously. 

"Is he a good swordsman?" Finn asks.

"Well," Poe says. "He beat me, and it wasn't much of a fight."

Finn has enough courtesy not to take a jab at Poe for admitting the loss.

"Maybe we should keep an armed guard..." Finn starts.

Rey shakes her head once, firmly. "That's what Poe is for."

"I'm kind of out of commission," Poe reminds. "I could give up my quarters for someone else so they don't have to be in your room."

Rey shakes her head again. "We know that the threat is real now. I'll strengthen the wards. We'll be ready."

After a moment, her expression softens, and she touches Poe's forehead gently. "Besides, I couldn't put you out of your own room. Finn and I would worry constantly if we can't keep an eye on you."

Poe wonders why the wards hadn't held up against it in the first place. Some kind of trick? The magical barriers and wards on the castle should hold against any Fae. It suggests something dire. Either there is a weakness in the protection, or they have enemies who aren't Fae. 

Remnants who couldn't' come to terms with the alliance? It doesn't' feel like that. Seems like the sort of cause you would announce before you tried to leverage a change with threats.

Rey and Finn look at each other over Poe's recumbent form, holding a conversation through mutual understanding. Poe can't follow.

Finally, Rey continues, taking Poe's hand in both of her own.

"Thank you," she says.

He knows what she means but he can't take her thanks in too earnest a fashion. He'd done his job because he loved Rey; because he can't imagine his world without her and Finn at the center of it.

"Of course," he says, cocky and carefree as he can manage. "It's my job."

"I hope you don't _really_ think that," Rey says.

Poe, smiling, neither affirms nor denies.

-

_He remembers the garden within the castle walls in full bloom, the roses lush and big. Fat blossoms that weigh the thorny lengths of the branches into gentle arches. They fill the air with a heady, thick scent as Poe looks up through the branches at the leaf-masked sky._

_The air is warm around him, comfortable. In his memory, it's idyllic, lacking any of the minor annoyances that intrude on real life._

_"What did you learn today?" Poe asks the youth beside him._

_"I don't think it's as interesting as flying," the boy says._

_"Don't be that way," Poe tells him, glancing over at his companion._

_The boy shakes dark, long hair out of his eyes. He glances at Poe with a serious expression, looking older than he should._

_"We learned the second secret of a quiet mind," he reveals at last, saying it all in a monotone rush. "It involved a lot of sitting still and thinking about plants."_

_"Plants?" Poe asks, in disbelief._

_"Mmm-hmm."_

_"I thought you were learning swordplay?"_

_"Only one day in seven," his companion answers, sounding morose._

_Poe laughs, "and magic?"_

_"Technically every day," his friend says in a dry tone. "But it hardly seems like magic."_

_Poe laughs, turning over in the dark space beneath the bush to look at his friend directly. "Come fly with me tomorrow, then."_

_Dark eyes swing toward Poe, as if trying to decide how sincere he is._

_"You want a quiet mind?" Poe asks. "The sky will give it to you."_

_The boy smiles at him, and Poe sees his worries star to ease. It becomes easier to believe that they are almost the same age, then. It's too nice a day for such stormclouds._

_"Can I really?"_

_"Sure," Poe says. "We can go up with Mom on patrol. You'll be back in time for your lessons with King Skywalker."_

_"That's really early," his friend says._

_"It's worth it though," Poe promises. "Meet us at the mews."_

-

Poe wakes, uncertain where he is initially. Had it been a dream? A memory?

_That was Ben Solo,_ Poe realizes, finding himself in his own bed. It's such a clear dream, but it seems confused in his mind. Wishful.

Like his memories of his mother, this one hasn't comet o the light in some time. It means it's easy to doubt, like so many half-remembered things in his past.

"Beebee," he calls, reaching out for her with his uninjured hand. He finds her softly breathing side.

The presence reassures him, seeming to pull him the rest of the way out of the past. The memory no longer seems important. He strokes Beebee's fur gently, without fully waking her. _What's the time?_

He can see thin sunlight easing past his closed curtains. Afternoon. He could go back to sleep, but he might dream more memories.

Poe gets up instead, restless. The broken hilt of his sword is laid out next to the severed blade on top of his dresser. He wonder why they had bothered to keep it.

He'll need a new one. His shoulder throbs just thinking about swinging a sword. Something to deal with later. Instead, he follows his memory, pulling on his boots one handed and going downstairs. Something about it is hooked into the back of his mind and yanking like a hook in a fishes mouth.

It's late afternoon and the castle seems alive with activity. Gold, sunset light streams through the windows, illuminating the changing of the guard and the preparations for dinner.

Guards patrol the halls on high alert after the attack, saluting Poe as they pass. He doubts they'll catch anyone. Their enemy had turned to smoke when confronted, after all.

His memories take him out to the garden, though the evening is cool enough to make him reconsider staying outside of the sheltering walls too long. With his eyes on the skeletons of once lush rose bushes, he tries to pull the rest of the memory up in his mind. It sticks, stubborn, behind the wall he has constructed.

On the other side there are most of his memories of his family. This - _this_ pulls him through a pinhole into his own thoughts of the past. He remembers waking to the smell of smoke and a terrifying silence that echoed some fading scream - and then - _then_ -

blood, painting the hallway of the knight's quarters. His feet slipping over the floor, bare and sticking in the cooling liquid. There was so much of it. His mother's hands over his eyes.

_No, not this,_ Poe pushes aside the memory of terror and his own pounding heart. _Earlier._

The memory forms over the sight of the dead roses. Ben in the garden.

_"Watch," the memory of Ben tells the memory of Poe._

_He holds a sword in his pale young fist. Ben's knuckles are white with determination as he summons up the focus and magic to his command. Poe watches._

_His eyes stay on the blade of the sword. He's holding his breath. Slowly, the sword begins to glow from within, seeming to shake from the power it could barely contain being poured into it._

"Poe?"

Finn's voice pulls him from his thoughts. He shakes off the sticky threads of the past.

"Yes?" Poe asks, turning to find Finn just behind him.

"You okay?"

Poe nods, though he's not sure that he is.


	8. Chapter 8

After Poe is caught wandering, he finds himself with a sudden surplus of royal attention. they do not let him sit too long in silent thought, appearing at any interval with any distraction they can dream up. 

Whatever Finn had seen in Poe in the garden, whatever he has shared with Rey, it worries her. They are gently, cheerfully smothering Poe to death. 

He wonders, idly as Rey sits by his bedside reviewing flight patrol reports and crew rotation schedule, if this is what they'd felt like when he was chaperoning them. 

"Seneschal Tarkin and the King approved another promotion to Captain while you recover," Rey tells him, handing him a stack of reports that likely says exactly that in more flowery language. "So you don't have to worry while you recover."

"Well, Jess was due for it anyway, even if I would have liked to see her just a little less interested in gossip before-"

Rey shakes her head, interrupting him. She bites her lip, pensively. "Not Jess."

This irritates Poe. They had promoted someone in his absence without consulting him or taking his input into account. It sounds like Seneschal Tarkin's work.

"Then who?" Poe asks, keeping his tone civil. Rey was only the bearer of the news.

"Kentalen," she reveals, and then Poe can't quite keep his incredulous expression in check.

" _Wen_ Kentalen?"

Rey nods. 

"The blind man," Poe says, uncharitably. In truth, even as angry as Poe is, he can't fault the decision too much. After all, Wen was one of his - a wingman. A damn fine pilot against all odds and with a certain grace under pressure that Pava did not possess.

"Don't be that way," Rey scolds him for his unkind remark. "Between Lucky and Blue Nine he sees everything he needs to, and his attention is sharper than ours sometimes."

Poe has to admit it. Despite his reservations, the pilot has proven himself. He'd survived the war. Made a few bridges with the First Order of his own since. Still, he has to add, "You haven't seen him walk into a wall first thing in the morning."

"No," Rey allows. "But I have seen _you_ do that before your first cup of caf."

"Touche," he allows. "But why _that_ choice? Why not someone like Iolo?"

"He's polite and willing to help," Rey says. "Tarkin mistakes that for tractability, I think. King Skywalker is willing to let him make that mistake. You know, like 'never interrupt your enemy...'"

"He thinks of the Seneschal as an enemy?" Poe asks, curiously.

"Poor choice of words," Rey says, smiling at him wickedly. "Tarkin's loyal even if he's a little stiff about it. Not an enemy, but a necessary evil."

It relieves Poe greatly to hear that he isn't the only one put off by Tarkin's attitude toward propriety. He likes to know that unless he steps seriously out of line, the Skywalkers will be on his side.

He doesn't intend to step out of line for a long time. He goes over the patrol rotations with Rey sitting comfortably next to him. He likes her being there, though there have been times when her presence seems stifling, a teasing glimpse at something he's not allowed to have. Not really.

Today, it's not so bad, freely given friendship without any pressure. When he's done, she takes the reports and files them, carrying his schedule away by hand. Poe refuses to let himself feel any guilt about the future queen doing a duty better suited to a personal aide. She'd taken it of her own free will and Poe wouldn't dream of trying to talk her out of it.

Besides, it gives him a few moments of privacy, a chance to regather himself. The book on Fae history is still on his bedside table, calling his attention. There was something pulling him back, something he had read. He can't quite put his finger on it. He's just reaching for the heavy book, negotiating the heavy tome off the nightstand one-handed, when Finn arrives. 

Like a timed dance, or the changing of the watch. Poe has to smile.

"Rey just left," he tells Fin, earning a sheepish grin that says Finn knows they've been made.

"Well," Finn says. "I was here to see you. Can I help with that?"

He gestures toward the book, smiling, eager to help. It makes Poe feel silly - and frail.

"No," he says. "I don't need it. Just old stories."

Finn sits down in the chair that Rey vacated and curls his warm, strong hand around Poe's. The feelings of infirmity fade away.

"So tell me what I'm missing while I'm stuck here outside of the world?" Poe asks, his smile answering Finn's, a call and response that Poe is sure will never fade.

-

He goes to visit Black on the fourth day, thinking wistfully of the sky. He feels trapped on the ground, too settled in one place. The dragon sleeps lazily in the sunlight on the steppes beneath the castle and Poe settles nearby, watching the red and blue creatures come and go with a wistful expression, a longing to join them.

- _It'll be soon that you can again,_ \- Beebee assures him. 

"How's Black?" he asks.

Beebee turns her pointed nose toward the dragon, her expression serious for a moment as she squints into the light. It's too cold to stay still for too long out here, even in the sun. An ice-touched breeze warns that the night will be frigid. The fall is coming on fast and hard.

- _He's alright,_ \- she assures Poe. - _Worried about you but not upset about the chance to rest._ -

"I guess I was pushing us all pretty hard," Poe says. "Sorry, Beebee. Pass that on to Black, would you?"

She dips her head, perhaps having already forgiven him. Beebee climbs delicately into Poe's lap, sitting there to comfort him and so she can watch the dragons too.

- _So now that you can't run from it anymore, what are you going to do about it?_ -

He's tempted to play dumb, to pretend he doesn't know what she's asking about, but it will only delay the discussion by a few seconds at most and make her irritated with him.

"I still don't know," he admits. For a moment the bitterness is overwhelming. "Go to the wedding. Watch them pledge to be happy together forever, and accept that they really mean it. Get really drunk and make some bad decisions."

Beebee gives him a disapproving look. 

"Well," he says, getting up and carrying Beebee with him. "What do you think I should do?"

Beebee sighs, a long-suffering sound that mirrors exactly how Poe feels about the situation.

- _I'm not sure,_ \- she admits. - _Tell them._ -

The thought is equally tempting and mortifying.

- _Make a decision soon,_ \- she tells him, settling down on his shoulders.

-

The need to do so keeps him up until his thoughts slip away from him. He's been awake most of the day, watching the early morning pass listlessly, his thoughts a dull roar. Everything seems to be reaching for his attention and yet unable to keep it. His thought slip against each other, directionless. They find traction again on a new path.

Ben Solo was a traitor, he had turned against King Skywalker and the other Druidic Jedi, tearing down the wards and letting Emperor Palpatine into the castle in the first place. But he had also been a pawn. He'd died enacting that plan, cut down by Luke. Poe remembers that much from the hours where grief had dimmed his sight and dulled his hearing.

No one had sent him away from the talk of the betrayal afterwards. He'd sat, misery invisible among all the refugees of freedom, scattered from the kingdom like seeds in the fall. They have all grown, those seeds of the end of empire. Transformed into heroes and pilots and knights, Princesses and Generals. 

It takes long hours for these thoughts to solidify in Poe's brain. They move as listlessly as he does. The injury has cast him free of his duties and any purpose. He can't fly to take his mind off things. Yet, as much as his memories call for his attention, they refuse to come into the light.

Poe finds himself again in the night with only a little concept of where he's been all day. He's in a dark hallway where the memory of blood has been washed away. He remembers more about Ben, now. Long warm afternoons spent exploring the world with him, and sometimes with King Skywalker's other students. He remembers when Han Solo would come to collect Ben, how Poe had admired Queen Leia's husband as much for how she looked at him as the stories about his ability as a pilot.

All of these children in his memories are dead. Han Solo is gone. It seems like a heavy weight - and Poe wonders if Luke carries this every day. Maybe all of this - and the fallout - is why Luke had hidden Rey away for so long.

Poe shakes himself loose of the thoughts. It's late. His arm and shoulder hurt and he's hungry. Poe couldn't say how long he's been leaning against the cold stone wall in the old Knight's quarters. Long enough that there's an impression of the rough surface stamped on his back.

_Where's Beebee?_ he wonders. Usually when she's away from him for this long, she's getting into trouble somewhere. He supposes she could also be asleep, shutting out his jumbled up thoughts with dreams. Poe figures he'll look for food before Beebee. Even if she is in trouble, she's not likely in any _danger_. The castle is a safe place for familiars.

He creeps through the silent halls, holding his injured arm against his chest and heading for the kitchen. The chefs will have gone to bed for the night, but Poe bets he can find something. Maybe even a little caf, since he doubts he'll get any sleep at all tonight.

Shadows jump at the corners of Poe's vision, some trick of the moonlight and his tired eyes. The fire is still burning low in the hearth; it never goes fully out to keep the bricks warm enough for bread to bake in the morning. 

It makes the kitchens feel warm and inviting after the cold hallway, and Poe feels some relief, pausing to stretch his cold fingers toward the comforting orange glow of the coals. he glances around the empty kitchens, seeing no other living creature besides a cat, curled in the warm dark space beside the hearth and watching Poe with distrustful, balefire eyes. 

"I'm not a mouse," he whispers to her in the dark. She flicks her tail once, dismissively as if allowing that the verdict is yet to be made. 

Like so many things in his life.

Poe raids a basket of stale bread and wolfs down a husk meant for goats or chickens whole, hungry enough to find even this meal satisfying. _It's better,_ he thinks, than some of my meals in the resistance.

The thought gives him pause. Was it really? A meal stolen and eaten in the surrounding opulence of the silent kitchens, measured against a meager few mouth fulls of uninteresting and soggy rations choked down anxiously in the freezing rain surrounded by his friends and allies?

Maybe not. Maybe one misery has been traded for another. But, for all his self-pity, as Poe drinks water from the bucket at the well to ease the dryness of the bread, Poe wouldn't undo what has happened. 

Rey and Finn are happy, and they deserve that beyond and above anything else. Together, they are beautiful and suggest a beautiful future. Logically, Poe knows all misery must pass when the cause is so simple as heartbreak. He has passed into and out of relationships before, and always survived. 

_Eventually_ , he thinks, lowering the bucket back into the well to draw up more water, _the pain will fade, won't it? It will wear out. Like Beebee says, I'll find a - a potential mate._

The thought is not an optimistic one. It comes with a certain sort of resignation. Poe will settle and pretend he has what he wants, all the while looking directly at the subjects of his desires - carnal and otherwise.

Like one of those dragons the First Order uses; chained to the ground and looking at the sky. Immobile until some strange hand comes with a temporary relief. 

Perhaps, Poe thinks, turning the handle to raise the heavy bucket again one-handed, he can go back to seeking relief by days, hours, minutes. Finding partners by understanding rather than love.

Leia will think he's a coward, but she'll forgive him for it.

With his muscles warm from the effort of raising the water, Poe leans down over the edge of the well to retrieve the bucket. A terrifying screech fills he air; an animal yowl that freezes Poe in place as his heart skips a beat, as adrenaline pounds awake and overthrows his thoughts with alarm.

_The cat. Why-?_

Two big hands with the force of a kicking horse behind them drive against Poe's shoulder blades, slamming the breath out of him as he impacts the raised stone ring surrounding the wall. For a single, gasping moment, his balance holds even as he feels himself tipping forward. 

He holds on, hard enough to feel the wound in his shoulder protest, to feel barely knit skin splitting open again with a warm, sluggish pulse of blood.

Then the stones turn impossibly slippery beneath his grip and the force impacts him again, sending him over the edge and down, wildly grabbing hands uptipping the bucket, scraping against the walls fruitlessly as he plummets. 

He braces for an impact that never comes.

-


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New tags/warnings include for torture and mind reading.

This time Poe doesn't wake slowly. He jerks back to awareness, hearing chains rattle before he's drawn up short, unable to move beyond a few inches. His wrists are tightly bound, and there's a hard iron band wrapped around Poe's chest, holding him tightly against a hard, flat surface behind him. His ribs are sore from it, suggesting he's been strapped to it for a while with the band being the only thing that's holding him up.

Poe's head is pounding, the space around him is dark as a cave, except for one blinding light shining on him, leaving everything but his own captivity unseen around him. He's chained at the wrists and ankles, held tightly against a hard, upright device.

_Where am I?_

For a long few moments, none of it makes sense. Why would he be here? Has he been captured by the First Order? Poe reaches out to try and feel Beebee, but there is an immense sensation of nothing. She isn't here. Too far away to feel or - 

Panic sets in, then. Poe jerks at his restraints, trying to remember where he was before here. He forces his quick breathing to slow, and closes his eyes against the brilliant light. He can see it still, pink-red through his eyelids. 

_Focus._

Before this, he had been-

"You're awake," a voice, low and sonorous, interrupts Poe's thoughts. It comes to him from the shadows outside of his view.

Poe opens his eyes but he doesn't otherwise respond. He's been captured before. It takes some of the mystery out of it. They'll ask questions, threaten pain; inflict it when he doesn't answer. Poe is not going to answer.

"Welcome into the darkness," the voice says. It doesn't sound quite human. Muffled and muted by something and yet penetrating. Poe can't tune the voice out as he tests the strength of his bonds. If he can find a weakness, he has hope.

"Are you comfortable?"

Poe's wrists are tightly bound, his fingers beginning to feel numb and sluggish. The restraints at his ankles are over his boots, clamping the leather against his skin. Not much hope there.

He senses the impatience of his interrogator and feels a faint semblance of control. This is an inexperienced questioner. He lets Poe know it matters if he answers. It means that the strength of his bonds don't matter as much as the strength of his resolve.

He looks up into the darkness and keeps his silence. He tries not to give any sign that he doesn't know why he's here, doesn't remember how he got here. There's just - the sensation of falling, and then - something...

"Silence won't protect you," the voice intrudes again. Insistent. It parts his thoughts like a curtain, shoving aside his ability to concentrate on anything else. His head hurts. Throbbing.

"Is that so?" Poe croaks, finding his mouth dry.

It seems to satisfy his captor a little. The pressure against Poe eases some. 

"You will answer my questions," the voice assures him, carrying a hint of a threat. Here it is at last. 

"Why would I do that?" Poe asks, testing his captor like he'd tested his bonds. 

His question gets no answer. He thinks, now that his eyes have adjusted, he can see his captor moving outside the circle of light. Restless.

"Where are the weaknesses in the wards?" the voice demands, after a long hesitation. The question makes no sense to Poe's exhausted mind. 

"What?"

"The wards," his captor repeats. The _pressure_ of the words increases. "Where are they weakest?"

Poe shakes his head, failing to understand. He wouldn't answer anyway, but it's easier when he has no idea what is being asked.

Suddenly, the sensation in his mind becomes a _crushing_ squeeze, pushing the breath out of him with a pained sigh that he can't prevent. There's a weight on his chest like a dragon's claw, rolling him flat so he can't catch his breath.

The Black Knight appears in Poe's circle of light, a void invading from beyond. He moves through the light, cutting it like a knife until the silver lines of his visor hypnotically scatter light in all directions. As he gets closer, the weight on Poe increases. Climbing and pressing, moving up his chest to his throat and transforming from tension to pain. 

Poe can't find air to gasp or whimper, his lungs locked closed as his heart pounds and dizziness threatens him.

"The _wards_ ," the Black Knight growls, voice low and intimate and echoing distorted within the helmet that's inches from Poe's face now. "Those that keep the Fae out of the castle. Where are they weakest? How do they function?"

Poe tries to siphon air in through the brick wall at the back of his mouth. He can only shake his head; he understands the question now and in the quickly dimming thoughts in the back of his mind he knows _why_ the Black Knight would ask. But he won't answer. He _can't_.

For a moment the world jerks and twists in a cascade of bursting-light and airless colors. All Poe can see is the dark hole over the Black Knight's eyes as it looks straight through him.

-

 

The next time Poe wakes up he remembers the well, remembers falling down into it. He'd been at the castle, with rustling shadows around him. Getting water from the well, when some force pushed him over.

It means he hasn't been captured by the First Order. The Black Knight has him, and Poe can't guess at his real motive. He wants a weakness in the castle defenses, but why?

Poe knows two things - first, that even if the Black Knight is an inexperienced inquisitor, he doesn't make empty threats. Second, there's no safe radius. The Black Knight can hurt him from across the room, from out of sight.

It means that all of his resistance will amount to a war of attrition; he will have less to defend himself with every time the Knight comes after him. If anything, that only firms Poe's resolve. He'll resist with every tool, every trick he's learned from his years in the Resistance.

_I never thought I'd feel grateful to the First Order_ , he thinks, peering into the shadows. The light is off, leaving him in absolute blackness. There's nothing but black, even to Poe's well adjusted eyes. He thinks that for now, he is completely alone. It's unsettling - he has always been able to reach out for Beebee before, to be sure he wasn't abandoned. 

Well, not _always_ , but he barely remembers a time before they became partners. Like flying, he'd bonded at an early age, too. His parents had been proud. There's a warm memory like a shaft of sunlight. His mother's smile, and his father - well. Kes made a show of examining Beebee thoroughly.

'This shape means trouble,' he'd said, giving Poe a playfully warning look before gathering his son up into an embrace that lifted him off his feet. Into the air.

Poe thinks his father was right. The shape means trouble. He seems to get into the most of it when his boots are on the ground. Now, they're tied to it.

But maybe he can spin this to his advantage. Poe's trapped, sure. He has no idea where he is and only a faint thought as to the identity and purpose of his captors. He's sure the Black Knight isn't working alone.

That's the one ace up his sleeve, a wild shot in the dark. Poe's done more with less. He might be able to get information from his captors. 

But the resolve is finite, and Poe finds himself waiting. Enduring. His shoulder aches, his fingers feel numb and distant. Still, nothing happens. No one comes. There's a slowly growing urgency in his bladder that seems to mirror the dryness in his mouth in sickening parallel and echoing between these sensations is a low hunger.

How long has he been here? Hours? Days? He thinks with a low, sudden twinge of panic, that the Black Knight had stolen what he wanted from Poe's mind already, with magic. 

_Maybe he's just left me down here to die, now that he's done with me._

The thought is poisonously easy to believe, here in the stale darkness. The First Order had been relentless, trying to wear him down under constant assault.

_If only they knew all they had to do was leave me alone in the dark until my bladder practically-_

The light turns on, slamming against Poe's unprepared eyes and blinding him, silencing his thoughts.

He's no longer alone.

-

"Tell me where the wards are weakest," the Black Knight's voice is calm and deep. Confident of his control over the situation. 

"I don't have that information," Poe says.

At the edge of the light, the black cloaked figure appears. All the weight of his attention is on Poe, though he has not yet brought the pressure of his magic to bear.

The Black Knight seems to be measuring Poe against his answer, deciding if his captive is lying.

"You know I can take it from you," he says. The ghost of airlessness seems to brush against Poe's chest, but whether it is only the memory haunting him, or if the Black Knight expended a small effort to remind him of their last meeting, Poe can't tell.

There is a time for blind resistance, and a time for manipulation.

"You could," Poe allows, adding a balm for his own pride, recklessly. "Maybe. If I had it. But I don't build the wards."

His denial meets only a calm silence. A dangerous one.

Poe tries to pull himself together, to push aside his discomfort and really focus. "Maybe if you told me what-"

Force slams against his chest, knocking him airless and stopping his words. The impact is sudden, but the withdrawal is slow, receding from Poe's skin like a caress.

Briefly, the handless touch seems to linger on Poe's injury as if assessing it. Gloating? The Black Knight had given this injury to him, after all.

Then, Poe can breathe again. He coughs out, and then drags air in. The Black Knight has barely moved, though at his side his hands have curled into clawed fists, evidence of the willpower expended to use magic against Poe. It's a sign that this is not effortless to him, that eventually he'll have to take a rest.

" _I_ ask the questions," the Black Knight tells him, solid and even.

Poe says nothing, hoping to see that edge of impatience again. To push back.

"You're the Knight-Commander," the Black Knight says. "It's your job to see to castle security."

Poe lifts his head and looks into the void over his adversaries eyes, and stays silent. He hasn't been asked a question.

"You've seen her build wards," the Knight says, leading Poe's thoughts.

Poe offers nothing in return, steering his mind away. He thinks of flying, instead. Of the sudden lurch of a long dive and the feeling of wind rushing past.

The next question pushes against his mind, carrying sensation, a seductive promise. _Give me what I want and all of this will end._

" _Where_ are the weaknesses?"

Poe takes a deep, deep breath and resists.

"You can't get in," he says. "The Princess isn't going to leave any weaknesses."

"The princess isn't here," the Black Knight tells him, lifting a hand toward Poe to direct the Force magic onto him. This time, there's no pressure.

The assault is pure pain, playing over Poe's nerves to stretch every one of them into a singing line; until he seems almost detached from his body. It hurts too much to be real; his body would be obliterated under such an assault. 

It splashes blankness onto his mind, covering or killing his thoughts like white paint thrown over a messy canvas.

Then, the Black Knight starts to pull his memories across his empty place, laying them bare. The thoughts writhe beneath the iron bands of his scrutiny, even the Knight's touch in his mind brings pain. 

Poe finds tears in his eyes in the seconds that he's aware of his body.

The memory of Rey is pulled up; her smile in his thoughts touching a small echo of warmth. 

An iron grip seizes that warmth and strips it free, like pulling the skin off a fish, and it vanishes into the darkness beyond the pain-white panel at the front of his mind. What can he see - _white, blinding light, where was his attacker?_ \- and what he can feel have become perilously close.

Both are under the control of the Black Knight.

Poe struggles for a hold on his thoughts, wrestling to keep them away from Rey. To redirect them onto something - anything else. Poe pulls up the first thing he can reach.

Flying. He's younger, smaller. He can feel the harness holding tightly against his chest - or is it the Black Knight's magic, punishing him for resisting?

Dimly, Poe is aware of the sound of his own voice, of the raw feeling forming in his chest as it strains. It's not loud, he can't scream, but the sounds of anguish coming out of him are constant and helpless.

He seizes the memory harder, the sensation like gripping a cliffside with his fingertips, the whole of his weight trying to drag him earthward.

Back toward that helpless white place.

In his memory of flight, other details form. The hide under his hands is red, the arms around his middle on the guiding reins are reassuring and familiar. His mother's. 

He looks out over the dragon's wing at the sky as the air rushes past so fast it stings his eyes.

In front of him, another form moves, a hand covering his own and hanging on tight, painful. Afraid and exhilarated, all in one. 

In his memory, Poe turns his hand over to reassure the other passenger.

He hears his raw and agonized voice form the name of the boy and the Black Knight.

"Ben," Poe rasps, desperate for the agony to stop. "Please!"

The touch withdraws suddenly from Poe's mind, recoiling, leaving Poe hanging from his restraints like a string-cut puppet, gasping for breath and trying to find himself in the sudden absence of pain and assault. 

The light turns off. A sound echoes in the room with the finality of a slamming door.

Poe is alone again, humiliated and hurting in the sweat-and-urine scent of his own shame.

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So someone said something about a cliffhanger and angst last chapter... I figured I'd exacerbate things. See you again soon!


	10. Interlude

Something is really, terribly wrong. Beebee doesn't panic right away - though the instinct to is very strong. Poe is not in bed where he _should_ be. She can't find him, and searching the castle hasn't made him appear, either.

- _Poe! Answer me before I get really mad,_ \- Beebee calls, following her nose down into the old knight's quarters.

No answer. He's been here, but now he just _isn't_ anymore. Sometimes, Poe's gone quiet. They've even argued in the past and not spoken for days, but he's never hidden himself from her like this. She's always been aware of him nearby. 

Beebee checks the mews. Her silent query to Black yields a sleepy, curious acknowledgement. The dragon is still there, so _where_ is her bond-mate? She's covered every inch of the cold stone floor she can think of. Her toes are so cold they ache and her legs are sore from frantic searching. But she _can't_ rest until she finds Poe.

It surprises Beebee when the first early-morning grey light appears through the windows. - _Have I been looking all night?_ -

But if she knows her bond-mate, she knows one thing. If he's not in bed at this hour...

Beebee trots to the kitchens, desperately hopeful

- _He just_ has _to turn up for a cup of caf,_ \- she thinks. - _He_ has _to!_ -

The kitchens are coming to life with the early preparations of the cooks. Weaving anxiously between their feet, Bebee seeks out the pot - a big, complicated cast iron affair by the fireplace. Then, something gives her pause.

Fear. She smells old animal fear and - something else. Poe, definitely, but this near to the caf-pot that's no surprise. No this is something...

"Oh, save us! Cookie, a mouse has been in!" One of the girls exclaims, slamming down a basket of soiled grains. "Where's that kriffing cat at?"

The head cook looks up and clucks her tongue at the younger woman for her language. "Something's spooked the old girl. She's been under the turnip bin all day. Save what you can and don't be too hard on the poor old cat."

Beebee follows the strange-familiar smell out to the yard, toward the wall. The stones around the well are wet underfoot. Not unusual - but the bucket on the end of the rope is broken, laying shattered at the foot of the well to await replacement. 

Poe's scent stops here, too. Vanishes.

- _He's gone,_ \- Beebee realizes, her heart sinking down deep. - _That_ thing _took him!_ -

She turns, cursing her short legs and wishing she'd taken the shape of a cat or a hunting hound or a _horse_ as she races through the castle.

- _I need Finn and Rey_ \- she thinks, in a near blind and angry panic. - _I need Poe back!_ -

Where would Finn be? The courtyard garden or his bedroom?

Beebee doesn't take the chance - she bolts up the stairs to the royal quarters instead, and throws herself at Rey's door until it opens, startling a bark out of the guard dog as she races past his nose.

Making it onto the bed in one herculean leap, Beebee decides that now is not the time for delicacy and throws herself at Rey, jumping up and down on the sleeping figure beneath the blankets with all her might until Rey wakes up. It doesn't take very long.

"Beebee," Rey realizes groggily, instinctively trying to push the familiar away. "What-?"

- _Poe!_ \- Beebee thinks with all her might, knowing Rey can't hear her but hoping that somehow the intent will shine through. That Rey will understand.

"Alright, Beebee, alright," Rey says, making comforting motions with her hands as Beebee continues to jump and twist frantically for her attention. "Beebee - stop!"

Rey tries to get her to hold still, gently but firmly putting both hands on Beebee's back. Rey looks into her eyes, trying to understand.

"Calm down," Rey says. Then, the _important_ question. "Where's Poe?"

-


	11. Chapter 11

The process of disassembly in Poe's mind does not relent; it proceeds apace with the hot fingers of the Black Knight's presence in his mind. They seize on targeted memories like a long billed bird yanking fish out of the water. Spearing them up wriggling and flashing and dying into the light.

Poe lives every moment he's seen Rey casting magic, all of the incidental knowledge he has about the castle. It's more than he thought. He'd hardly noted such day to day activities as when the magic needed to be restored, but he _had_ seen it.

Ben - if it _is_ Ben under the helmet - peels away Poe's personal attachments to those memories, shucking off the concept of how beautiful Rey was when she's focused. How her mouth describes the exact shape of determination in absolute, minimal perfection.

Instead, the lense of clinical obsession is applied. Her exact movements, the nature of the magic.

Poe doesn't know if it's what the Black Knight needs; he pursues the thread through Poe's thoughts with single minded and desperate tasting determination, ripping it up from the weave of memories and shredding anything connected to it.

There is no other agony like this. Time fades and fails meaning around the relentless parade of memories. Then, it all stops.

From his captor, Poe senses a certain frustration. Impatience, then nothing.

The only thought that surfaces from the ravaged landscape of Poe's thoughts is, _he's finally done with me._

It's the black box of his sane mind sending out the call in the rattling empty space of his head. A repeating distress signal while his identity and cognizance try to stay flush in the furthest parts of his black thoughts. These things that constitute Poe have pressed themselves into corners and far reaches to survive.

They do not unfold again quickly.

-

"How did you learn that name?" the voice pulls Poe up from a time of drifting nothingness. Familiar and yet strange.

Poe scrapes up an answer, the first one that comes under his desperate reach. "I barely know my name right now."

His voice is dry, cracking and harsh. It surprises him with how rough it sounds, how much his throat hurts. He forges on. "You'll have to be more specific."

The light isn't on. Dimly, Poe knows he's still strapped upright into the restraints, but everything feels distant and detached. He thinks he can see some faint shine in the darkness. The Black Knight is crouched by his feet, he thinks. Looking up at Poe. It doesn't seem right.

"You called me 'Ben'," the Knight reminds. It is almost an accusation.

It _seems_ right. Poe remembers a moment - at least one - when he'd called out. When he'd understood what was happening to him could - and should - be protested. 

"Isn't that your name?" Poe asks, confused by the first question. He's exhausted, his thoughts feel like flooded engines, swimming too hard to move him forward.

"Not anymore," the Black Knight says. "Ben Solo is dead."

Poe shakes his head, too exhausted to question his own certainty. It doesn't make sense. It's not the first time he's heard that statement.

"You're Ben Solo," Poe asserts. "We grew up together."

"I'm the prince of Fae," the Knight's voice sounds faintly uncertain within his helmet. Poe thinks he can hear the faint hiss of an uncertain breath being drawn. "I'm Kylo Ren."

_Fae?_ Poe remembers something about them, something about how dangerous they are. When he reaches for these thoughts, they scatter away from his touch.

"My father trusted Ben Solo," the Knight continues, and then, dismissively, "he failed. _I_ will not."

It makes no sense to Poe. He knows that this must be it; Kylo Ren is finished with him, satisfying some last curiosity before he kills Poe or puts him in some forgotten cell to starve or go mad. he doesn't ask what will happen, one last daring adventure into the unknown.

"You can't get into the castle," Poe says, then. Defiance feels right. "There's no weakness in the wards."

"I have _been_ into your precious castle."

The flare of anger is bright and sudden, viciously angry. Poe feels the breeze of Kylo Ren standing up through the filthy-wet fabric of his pants.

"I stood in your treasured princess' _room_ and I held her at my mercy," Kylo Ren continues, a distorted snarl echoing out of his helmet.

_So what do you need me for?_ Poe thinks - and then.... Then he remembers Rey. The singular focus on her magic. Rey, who would soon marry, who has endured years of war.

Poe is here, and the pieces of the puzzle are laid out in front of him. He can stop this, he _has_ to stop this. He's sure that if Rey and Finn are dragged in...

_I have to protect them_ , he resolves. It may be the only path left to him that has any meaning.

"Ben," Poe tries, "listen to me."

But he gets no further. This time the force that stops him is not magic, but physical. Kylo Ren's hand on his neck in a warning and reminder. Poe stops instantly, swallowing against the cage of Kylo Ren's fingers.

They do not tighten, just cradle. Kylo Ren's helm must be very close to Poe, he thinks he can see the faint shine of the silver detail around his visor even in the near total darkness. Poe expects to be commanded to stop talking, to be corrected for calling the wrong name, for pain to be the next step. 

It doesn't come.

Instead, the touch goes gentle over his throat, feeling Poe swallow against his palm. The contact has put his body on instant alert, tensing his exhausted muscles, quickening his heart-rate. He doesn't know how long he's been here; he has a twisting sensation that its' been days only. Already, he expects touch to mean only agony.

"You think you know what I don't?" Kylo Ren asks him, in a whisper. "I have seen every corner of your mind."

Poe shivers at the weight of this truth, a ton of gauze crushing him as slowly as it suffocates.

"Then why are we still talking?" Poe presses, and he can feel his voice vibrating against Kylo Ren's palm. It's a risk, a chance that by pointing out the hesitation he will break the tenuous threads that suspend it. "If you're so sure I'm wrong, huh?"

It sounds brave in his harsh voice. Almost taunting. Unexpectedly solid, since he's still tied up and filthy and his hands are a numb agony. He's always had trouble finding the line between brace and stupid. Poe runs toward the border with a wild abandon every time.

"There's something..." Kylo Ren says, distant. Intrigued. Then he stops, and Poe feels his presence recede.

Poe is left alone again, the sensation of a hand still a ghost at his neck, but he knows somehow that he will not be left here and forgotten.

-

When Kylo Ren next comes, Poe holds silent by extreme force of will. It has been long enough that his thirst and hunger are living things in his belly.

He had called out into the un-answering darkness only once. That was all he'd allow himself to break. He'd fractured enough already, he figures, even as he doubts his certainty that he hasn't been forgotten.

Then Kylo Ren appears. The room illuminates with no fanfare, blinding Poe as Kylo Ren enters with clear purpose. He is a shadow cutting through the light. The black robes move behind him, tight against his tall, lean frame and then blooming at the waist into trailing fabric. He looks clean, held together, gathered.

In the light, Poe is none of these things. The room itself is a cave. His restraint is a sort of sturdy, angled table, onto which he is still strapped.

Kylo Ren has entered through a ragged hole in the rock that shimmers behind him without emitting light. A ward. This one stops more than Fae, Poe thinks. 

This ward is for him.

Kylo Ren moves with a confidence akin to the kind Poe has seen Black display when hunting his dinner. He commands the space around him so thoroughly that when, at a slow gesture, Poe's restraints spring open, Poe does not dream of escape immediately.

Instead, he collapses forward, hitting his hands and knees at the foot of the device. His fingers are cold and insensate, suddenly starting to pound with the demanded rush of blood. His legs don't feel much better, and Poe is dizzy. Weak.

Kylo Ren stands over him, looking down for a long moment. He is unreadable in posture, and his face is hidden. Poe has lain scoured bare before this creature, but he has not even seen Kylo Ren's eyes. He looks up now, up all the long distance to the black hole of the visor.

A dozen witty words die against the backs of Poe's teeth.

"Come with me," Kylo commands. His voice is a deep, sad sound. A low mutter that still sparks the lurching desire; the biological _need_ to obey. The voice has so recently commanded every pain in his life that Poe drags himself to his feet before he thinks to resist.

He _should_ resist. But it feels so good to stand up on his own power, even on numb legs, that he does not immediately misbehave.

"I'm a little hungry," Poe says, as casually as he can manage. His voice is still rough.

Kylo Ren does not step back as he stands up, so Poe gets a very near view of his chest before he finds himself looking up into the hole of Kylo Ren's visor from a very small span. He can see nothing in the silver-rimmed blackness.

"I don't suppose we're going for dinner? I could eat like a whole-"

Kylo Ren turns away without responding, and Poe flinches into silence at the sudden motion. Kylo dismisses the magical field with a gesture, and steps forward. Poe supposes the command from earlier stands. He is to follow Kylo - the prince of the Fae if his claim is to be trusted - either to his grave or to something unknown.

"I mean, I could really go for a great big steak," Poe says, following behind. It's his best bet for an opportunity to do - well, anything. His hands have been left unbound, but he doubts it's an oversight.

"I mean, even Fae have to eat right?" 

Kylo Ren's long strides leave Poe almost trotting to keep up. The knight says nothing to Poe, neither threats nor reassurances. 

Once outside of his cell the hall transforms. Thought they are still clearly underground, a grandeur appears - practical rock cells giving way to intricately sculpted walls. Arching ceilings lift high overhead, still sealed over beneath unknown volumes of rock. It gives Poe an idea of how deep underground he really is. This is no ordinary cave where he might eventually find his way back to sunlight by chance.

It's a castle, carved into impossible shapes beneath the earth. The walls between columns are sculpted into faces, Poe realizes, agonized or screaming. No light reaches them from the sun; instead the hallways are lit up with the strange yellow-green of fireflies, contained in glass jars that appear in intervals.

On closer look, the lights inside are much larger. Poe doesn't have time to look any longer than a few seconds, but there are strange animal shapes moving in the lights. Swimming through the air. His attention seems to catch and snag, slowing his steps as he tries to understand what he's seeing.

"Don't look at the wisps," Kylo Ren's voice drags at Poe's attention, pulling him free of the glamour that the swimming stars are wrapping around his senses.

Poe follows, again, a dog brought suddenly to heel.

"Where are we going?" Poe appeals, when Kylo Ren at last stops in front of one of the doorways. A heavy wooden door with iron trappings.

There is no verbal answer. Kylo Ren opens the door with a gesture and steam pours out of the room beyond, curling around their ankles.

Inside, in the strange darkly lavish room, is a bath. A natural spring welling up from the darkness. Relief and a thrill of sickly pleasure fills Poe's traitor heart.

He steps in willingly, eager to scour his humiliation and agony from his skin.

-


	12. Chapter 12

It's the food that's going to be Poe's undoing. If he remembers anything from his time researching the Fae, it's that there's something... _something_ about eating their food. His clothes are gone, replaced by strange and opulent finery that makes him feel deeply uncomfortable - in fact, nothing he'd carried in with him remains with him anymore and he sits with chained hands at the table of a Fae prince, but it's the food he's worried about.

The concern falls to the wayside under the demands of his empty stomach. Kylo Ren has somehow produced a feast in this silent, dark, uninhabited world. Poe cannot imagine him expending the effort to cook; he suspects magic from the outset.

The table is laid out in darkly inviting splendor, rich with a dozen options - duck and pheasant, boar and stag (this served with the platter cradled in one antler to leave no doubt, lifted above the table on elegant and disembodied tines). There are breads, sweet and savory, and fruits and cake.

It is a wasteful amount of food for only one person, served in the intimate half-light of candles fighting as hard as they can against the darkness. No one else sits at the table save the two of them, and Kylo Ren does not eat.

Poe's hands are bound in heavy manacles. The process of their application to his person is a strange blur in his mind. He thinks he resisted, but it seems fuzzy and distant. Like someone has put a heavy blanket over the memory.

He looks at the food mistrustfully and wonders. _Will my memories eventually all suffocate?_

"You should eat," Kylo Ren tells him, his muffled tone level.

Poe is _starving_ \- but he makes no move. He just sits and waits, defiant.

Kylo makes a gesture, and Poe's plate slides toward him. He knows its a warning. He resists anyway, leaning back.

"This atmosphere doesn't do anything for my apatite," he says. "Besides, I know better than to owe any Fae any _favors_."

"You don't trust me?" Kylo Ren asks. He's seated across the table watching Poe with the inscrutable expression of the helm. Poe's plate moves forward again.

Poe knows then that he _has_ to eat, that he will eat. He has a choice in two parts - to eat by his own and will or to be pinned and fed by magic.

He lifts his fork and takes a bite, then looks up, chewing. The food is delicious, but has a strange texture that he can't put his finger on. He suspects the fact that he's too hungry to care, even as the mealy substance slides over his tongue, is by design.

The question still hangs in the air between them.

"Why would I trust you?" Poe asks. "You haven't given me any reason to." He finds that the instinct to answer has been impelled in him, somehow a part of the aversion to the sort of pain that Kylo Ren has caused him. 

"I have given you everything that I sensed you desired," Kylo Ren says. 

The sense of violation in that is very small, a drop in the bucket compared to what he has recently endured. It flares up quickly then burns out, like dragonfire in the rain.

"That's not really..." Poe says, looking across the table and wondering how much he should say. There's a certain sort of manic, plunging freedom in feeling like his captor knows his every thought in explicit detail. Kylo Ren is watching him intensely, he thinks, or at least the front of the mask is trained and angled just so in Poe's direction.

"I'm sorry," Poe says, putting down his fork in an awkward two-handed gesture. "I just can't take you seriously with all that... apparatus."

The response he gets is almost surprised. Poe supposes that the people that Kylo Ren interrogated rarely spent much time talking back to him afterwards. Then, somehow, Poe gets a sense of amusement from the covered figure.

Wordlessly, Kylo Ren reaches up to place both hands on either side of the helmet. It clicks and then two catches release, opening the close fitting face-guard. His hood falls back and the helm comes free between his hands.

Poe, for all he'd like to pretend disinterest, is transfixed by the slow reveal. His eyes track the motion while the rest of him is still. 

The face that's revealed is younger than Poe expects, long and somber. Wavy black hair pours free of the confines, and Kylo shakes it back from his eyes before they fix on Poe, as if eager for his response, drinking in his surprise. Whatever Poe expected, he's sure it wasn't _this_.

It's too human. There's something vulnerable about Kylo Ren, and Poe looks into familiar brown eyes and _knows_.

_No matter what he says, I'm sure it's Ben,_ Poe realizes, though he's uncertain _why_ he's so positive.

"You've barely eaten," Kylo Ren reminds. Without the helmet, his voice is un-echoing and different without filtering through all that metal. It sounds bare.

Poe reaches for his plate automatically, suddenly remembering how hungry he is. He's already eating when a strange doubt creeps in. Is the sensation real? Does he really feel it? _Did Kylo just-?_

He decides that he can't question every feeling he has and continues to shovel the strangely unsettling food into his mouth under the watchful gaze of whatever Ben Solo has become.

"Not that I'm not grateful," Poe prefaces, when he's eaten enough to abate his hunger. The food sits heavy and strange in his stomach but seems real enough to keep him alive. "But why all this?"

Without the mask, Kylo Ren's vulnerable features are easy to read. The question pleases him.

_Or maybe he's just starved for interaction_ Poe thinks. He hasn't seen another soul in all this vast, dark palace.

"I'm curious about you," Kylo Ren says. He leans forward on his elbows, watching Poe. "You're the only human I've spent time with."

Poe stabs his food idly, pushing the leftovers around on his plate, tearing his gaze away from Kylo Ren's. "We both know that's not true."

"You mean the Princess?"

Poe is almost surprised by the words. He remembers Rey suddenly, with a bright warm feeling and a sort of vertigo seems to overcome him. Somehow, he's almost forgotten Rey and Finn. His memories of anything before being down here in the darkness feel very far away. Like something that happened years ago. 

_How long have I been down here?_

With a shock, Poe realizes he doesn't know. Time seems like a distant concept, a construct of light and air that has no place in the darkness. He's lost track of it somehow, behind the pain he'd endured. 

He wonders if, back in the world he's left behind, Rey and Fin have gotten married. It can't have been that long, can it? Even as he reaches for that reassuring certainty, it melts away.

"You spent time with me when we were both kids, Ben, You studied with King Skywalker," Poe says, shoving the confusing tangle of recent memory aside.

He's afraid no one is missing him any longer. That, perhaps, they are not even _mourning_ him anymore. He is tired of this place, of the fog in his mind.

Kylo Ren's face changes from open interest to closed denial.

Poe draws himself up in the face of Kylo's anger, shoving his plate away. He has to escape, that much is clear, but to do so he has to ward of Kylo Ren's attention - or maybe he can somehow win him over.

Poe knows who he is. Whoever is manipulating Kylo Ren has given him a fairly long leash. How that Poe has seen him without the mask, he's sure that Ben _is_ human, no matter what he says or believes.

"You've seen my memories," Poe says, dragging up his conviction. "You remember, too."

"I'm _not_ human," Kylo Ren says quietly, his tone a clear warning to Poe.

"Listen to me," Poe says, putting his hands in their bindings on the table - suddenly clear and empty - in an entreating motion.

Kylo Ren stands up in a sharp motion, his face an unmasked well of rage, and Poe flinches back, falling into silence and hating himself for the ingrained response.

-

Poe is free to explore - for a certain definition of free. The palace seems to go on and on, until some trick of the place returns Poe to the main hall. It's a vast, lonely place, and Poe can't understand why one man needs so much empty space. Kylo Ren seems to come and go as he pleases, but Poe can't find any doors that lead out.

_Who exactly is this elaborate prison built for?_ Surely it's not all for Poe's benefit. 

Though his wrists are left chained, Poe isn't sure that serves any practical purpose. The lock resists every attempt to pick it with the crude tools he can scavenge from the barren rooms, but if he were truly determined he's sure he can work at least one hand free through the manacles. 

When he gets tired, he sleeps. Wherever he finds himself - usually in the vast main hall. If he sleeps elsewhere, he wakes beneath the vaulted ceiling there anyway, stiff and sore.

"Be nice to have a blanket," Poe laments, his voice not even loud enough to echo.

"You haven't asked for one," the voice comes out of nowhere, startling Poe.

Kylo Ren steps out of the shadows at the far reaches of the hall and into the glow of the firefly light. Or maybe he enters from beyond the shadows.

"I didn't know I could make requests," Poe says, stretching, picking himself up off the cold floor. Sleeping under the watchful eyes of the screaming, frozen faces always left him unsettled. 

"Requests will be considered," Kylo Ren says. His tone carries amusement.

_He's toying with me_ , Poe realizes. He doesn't want to know what will happen if Kylo loses interest.

"I'd like to go home," Poe suggests.

"What makes you think there's still a place for you?" Kylo steps closer. "After all, you betrayed them."

Poe feels a helpless chuckle slip free, one sound only that's more agony than his screams. "Not willingly."

Kylo steps closer still, attention on Poe through the entire set of his shoulders and the predatory angle of his head. Poe wishes he could see Kylo's eyes, but he knows he wouldn't like what must be there. Cruelty or understanding or both.

"You betray them every day," Kylo Ren says, smug and sharp. "You lie to them."

The cut is deep. Targeted. Poe stands up straighter. "I've never lied."

There's no reason to protest, but Kylo Ren is bending the truth. Needling him for a result.

"You lie to yourself," Kylo Ren says, his voice turning a smug upcurve in tone like a victorious sword stroke. _Knowing_.

"That's not a betrayal," Poe says, driven back on the defensive.

"Staying with them for your own selfish reasons?" Kylo Ren asks. "False pretenses so that you can stay as close as you are without suffering the consequences that you would if they knew?"

Kylo Ren reaches up to pull off his helmet, revealing an intense gaze, a piercing interest. He lifts his chin, showing his teeth as he speaks again.

"You belong here."

Poe doesn't expect that statement, not at the end of the tirade, there's no logic. He begins to wonder if - if it _is_ Ben as he knows it to be, what has the Fae magic done to him? How has it changed the boy Poe knew?

Kylo Ren's penetrating gaze is black and harsh in the green glow. He's watching Poe for every reaction, paying attention. Poe is hurt. Defensive.

"Here? Is this where the Fae lock up forgotten people?" Poe asks. His hands are fists in their manacles, and he can feel the sharp edge against the raw place on the back of his thumb where he's begun to scrape the flesh in order to get free. "Is that why _you're_ here, Ben?"

"I'm not-"

Poe continues, angry enough to risk speaking over Kylo Ren's protest. Perhaps the memory of pain has faded enough to make him bold.

"I know about the sort of tricks Fae like to pull," Poe says, raising his voice. "Switching infants - changing their own young with humans. That's what happened, isn't it? Only it was - it _is_ you I remember. You said Ben Solo failed but-"

The air rushes out of Poe's lungs, Kylo Ren making a violent gesture through the air that stops Poe Cold. His eyes burn furiously and he steps forward.

Poe finds himself unable to move, his whole body held thrumming in place by the dazzling display of magic.

_I sure hit a nerve._

Kylo Ren takes a deep breath and releases Poe. "There won't be anything for you to return to."

"You're wrong," Poe gasps. There's not a lot he's certain of, but his faith in Rey and Finn never wavers. _No matter what you have planned, I'll stop you._

-

The visits from Kylo grow further between. Poe resorts to searching the walls, to hiding in the shadows himself, trying to find where Kylo goes. His meals appear at regular intervals, but it's the only concession to his needs that is made.

Poe eats sparingly, carefully - finding that too much of the food leaves his thoughts sluggish and struggling and smothers his memories for hours. It leaves him lean and hungry and often cold.

_Maybe I wasted my chance for a blanket_ , Poe thinks. He's stripped to the waist - he'd never gotten his own clothes back after the baths - they've been spirited away. Poe hardly misses them, given the state he'd last seen them in. The finery he's been supplied with since is impractical for his latest explorations. 

There's a deep gauge on the back of his right thumb, a wide swath of skin scraped off by his efforts to escape his manacles. The empty ring hangs from the cuff still on his left wrist - he'd settled for getting that far, just enough to free up his hands.

He's climbing. It's unsettling to do in the dark, to put his hands on top of heads, to feel noses and closed eyes under his finger-tips. To put his hands _into_ open mouths. But, the magic _has_ to have limits, like how Kylo Ren was searching for the weaknesses of the castle wards.

_There's a limit to everything,_ he thinks, pulling himself up higher, leaving the impression of stone teeth in his palm. _Men, dragons, and magic. No way all this wasn't built with whatever form of magic the Fae-_

Poe reaches up for his next hand hold and his fingers pass through the wall and into thin air. Poe almost loses his hold on the solid parts, scrabbling for a new place to put his hand and gripping tightly to the solid rock under his toes.

When his pulse slows down again, Poe studies the place his hand had gone through. It _looks_ solid. Poe reaches again

_Maybe this place isn't really as big as it seems..._ The thought is a claustrophobic one - ho long has he spent here, chasing himself in circles?

His hand passes through one of the faces, an unsettling image. This high up, the light from below barely penetrates. He'll have to figure this out by touch. Beyond the face, he finds empty air, a cool empty place that is long enough to take his arm to the elbow, though he can feel a smooth bottom surface.

It's big enough for him to crawl into, he thinks.

_Here goes nothing._ He hoists himself up with both his hands flat on the bottom surface of the space beyond. He hesitates only a second when he'll have to push his face through the illusory screaming face. 

_I wonder how all of these got here,_ Poe thinks, closing his eyes as he leans through. _I wonder_ why _, I mean this place doesn't really scream 'grandeur'._

He hits his head on the top of the shaft, and then collapses into the small space beyond until he gets his bearings. The space beyond the wall is - small. Square. It goes on for a long time, he thinks. _The Fae are allergic to light?_ But, the air is fresher. It must be a vent - it might even lead him to the surface.

He just has to crawl through an unknown length of pitch black tunnel with nothing to give him direction.

_I wish Beebee was here_.

His familiar would be better suited to the small, tight space. Poe has to crawl with his dangling shackle dragging against the stone. The sides of the shaft nearly brush his shoulders with every movement. It will be a long trip.

After a time enduring the silent, cold darkness, fighting off the sensation of constant confinement, Poe stops. He wrestles his shirt from around his waist and contorts in the tiny space until he can pull it on to spare his skin some of the abrasion from the rough stone. 

While he's struggling to get his arms to the ends of their sleeves, a low sound reaches him. A strange humming. Poe freezes. A light comes on in the tunnel ahead of him.

"Kylo Ren," a voice seems to fill the air, booming and heavy, seeming to be bigger than is possible.

Poe yanks his shirt the rest of the way on, scraping himself on the rough walls. 

"Have you found an entrance into the castle?" the voice demands. Poe heads for the light, moving quickly but carefully.

"Not yet, Supreme Leader," Kylo Ren's voice is much smaller, echoing up to Poe from what seems like a great distance.

"I'm getting close," Kylo Ren assures. "The wards will be weakest at midnight. I can slip in and-"

Something stops Kylo Ren, and Poe crouches over the hole - feeling lucky that he hadn't tried to go over it unseen. The room below is vast. Dark. Empty, except for a massive throne lifting high and illuminated, occupied by a twisted figure that commands the room with his cruel gaze.

"What is taking you so long?"

The Fae King doesn't sound impatient, but Poe would not want to be down there explaining himself. he can't even see Kylo Ren in the shadows outside of the ring of light surrounding the enthroned king.

"The Skywalkers are wise," Kylo Ren says. "They've fortified their wards so that even I can't slip in easily."

No Fae should have been able to enter in the first place. Another piece that falls into place in Poe's thoughts. _He could enter because he isn't Fae. That's why the king is using him._

"I expect better of you," The Fae King says.

"I will kill the princess," Kylo Ren's voice raises from the shadows, strident. "I will reclaim the castle and our place in the sun."

The Fae King sits back, and Poe realizes that he must truly be a giant. It is no illusion. Kylo Ren steps into the circle of light, dwarfed.

"No," the King's voice emerges slowly, bringing Kylo Ren to a sudden stop. 

The Fae King leans down slowly, bending nearly double over his own knees to look intently at his stolen heir.

"Bring her to me," the King orders.

-


	13. Chapter 13

The light suddenly goes out below him, and Poe scrambles backwards in a rush. His thoughts are scattered and dim, distant to his urgency as he scrapes his skin on the hard stone, skinning his knees as his pants rip. He has to catch Kylo Ren, has to stop him. He doesn't know what the King of the Fae wants with Rey, but Poe's determined that all the things that have happened to him should never happen to her.

He rushes forward in the blind darkness, and wonders if he'll be able to see where the tunnel ends before he plunges over the edge. The fall might not kill him, but it wouldn't do him any favors. Poe slides each hand forward carefully in front of him - turning around in the narrow shaft had nearly stuck him in place, a momentary and miniature nightmare. 

Poe wishes he'd kept better track of how long he'd crawled. There's no light at all, and no other way out except forward, but his mind nags at him. What if he's gotten lost or confused somehow?

_What if it's just as magical as the rest of this kriffing place and I'm crawling in circles or trapped in a labyrinth?_ Poe tries to keep from panicking; he rushes forward blindly and the walls seem to tighten around him, seem to scrape at his raw skin more often. The clattering of his empty manacle over the stone ground seems like it must echo for miles.

His whole back feels like it must be field of cuts and bruises and scraps. A distracting, low-level pain that Poe could avoid some of if he'd slow down - if he retained that ability. He doesn't.

_I have to get out of here._

It's only instinct that saves Poe as he finds the edge of the shaft again, pouring over the precipice on his own momentum. He tips head-first toward the distant, dimly lit floor below and twists cat-like in his fall, reaching and grabbing at the faces that protrude from the wall. 

Halfway down he jerks to an abrupt, painful stop. Poe feels several of the small bones in his wrist displace, his shoulder jerks in the socket, taking all of his weight before he can get another hand-hold. He groans, kicking out with his feet to get a hold and take the weight off his wrist and shoulder before his arm free of the socket or his mangled hand slips the cuff and drops him the rest of the way to the floor. 

He feels blood sliding up his arm and thinks if he survives this, he'll have matching and unusual scars behind his thumbs. Poe jams his hand into the mouth of some agonized stone soul and sighs out in relief as the pressure on his arm eases.

Then he hears the sound of Kylo Ren's burning blade wake up in the echoing space behind him. The hum seems to sink hooks into the middle of his body and yank.

"What did you do?" Kylo Ren's voice demands, ominous and penetrating in the silence.

Poe's too focused on dragging himself back up to answer. He's sure that Kylo can see him - or sense him - even in the half dark at the edge of the hall. He can almost _feel_ the roiling anger in the figure behind him. 

"I know about your plan," Poe says, as he works the empty manacle free from the place it had caught. He has to get down, has to keep Kylo Ren's attention and distract him from impatience.

"You know nothing," Kylo Ren snarls.

"He wants you to bring your replacement," Poe says, testing the injured hand. He'll have to get down one-handed, slow and careful. He feels blindly for the next foot hold below him, wishing he could see how his words affect Kylo Ren.

A blistering silence answers.

"Because you know he's using you," Poe continues, glancing down. The floor is still dangerously far away, and going feels endlessly slow. "And that means you're replaceable."

 

Poe almost immediately regrets his antagonistic tone. A sudden lurching sensation seizes in Poe's belly, yanking and twisting him away from the wall. Poe grabs desperately at it as he feels an invisible force try to drag him down. Pain shocks through his hand and wrist, but he forces his fingers to hold on, to curl into a crevice and lock.

The first effort is not the last, and Poe has made himself a convenient target for Kylo Ren's anger by firing arrows so close to the truth.

In retrospect, as the magic pulls again, strong as a riptide, fierce and repetitive and violently weakening his hold with every surge, it wasn't his best tactic. It batters him against the uneven surface of the wall in one instant and then rips him away from it in the next, prying him off until he goes crashing down at last. Flung away into the center of the room like a ragdoll. 

Impact jars every inch of him, driving Poe's breath out of his lungs. New, harsh pain rings out from his ribs, from his back. Terror seizes him briefly - what has he broken? Surely ribs, but his pilot's training reminds him of the bigger dangers of a fall. His back - which might leave him on the ground (he refuses to think _under_ it) forever. 

"You're wrong," Kylo Ren's voice comes from just over him; the hum of his magic weapon an ominous underscore as he stands over Poe's crumpled form. "King Snoke is wise. Powerful."

Poe tries to take stock of what still moves, slow and careful. Though Kylo Ren's tone is quieter, his anger is no further away. Poe has riled his unpredictable, dangerous side and must face the consequences unarmed.

_If I'm going to die,_ he thinks, _I'm going to do it on my feet. I'm going to make it count!_

"My father will take back what belongs to us," Kylo Ren says. It's like a mantra. The blank, empty hole over his eyes stays trained on Poe.

Poe picks himself up, ignoring how his ribs seem to stab at him, how his muscles scream and his head pounds. His limbs try to drag him down again like lead weights.

"Han Solo is your father," Poe tells him. "To Snoke you are only a tool."

Kylo Ren growls, warning him.

Poe has to hold his ribs, to keep his injured arm clamped to his injured side like his body is a basket with the bottom rotting out He feels like he'll spill just as surely if he lets go, but so long as he holds on he can stand almost straight. He can _almost_ look the mask of Kylo Ren in the eyes. 

"That's not true," Kylo Ren says.

"He's controlling you, Ben," Poe tries, more gently. He's sure that _somehow_ , in the depths, his friend is still there. That he may still be able to fight. "And now he's tired of you. He wants a _new_ puppet. A stronger one."

The sword raises, filling Poe's vision with a dangerous, hot light. He flinches, then firms himself.

"We're not going to let him do that to Rey," Poe says, entreating. "To _anybody_ else, right?"

For a moment, Kylo Ren hesitates, red light from his blade reflecting off the silver design around his eyes. Loops of metal that curve and fold back intricately - one end seamlessly joined until there is no beginning. Like this place that they're in - just long halls that lead nowhere except back to themselves.

In the moment Poe thinks he understands - _please let me be right or I'm dead_ \- Kylo Ren begins to swing his strike. To go for the kill.

Instead of preserving himself by jumping back, Poe lunges in. He bullies both of his hands to cooperating, reaching, _reaching_ , even as the burning blade pierces his side. The bright-fire of agony doesn't matter. The moments when Poe's _sure_ he's not breathing, his heart's not beating, when all that's pushing him forward is momentum and brave stupidity, that doesn't matter either. Not as much as when both his hand clamp down on either side of Kylo Ren's helm and hold. 

The catches don't give, but he feels it slide anyway,f eels it begin to come free under the sheer brute force of all Poe's weight. He impacts Kylo Ren hard enough to make him stumble back and double over. Then, the helmet comes free with a tearing sensation,a nd Kylo Ren falls back, bare faced and with a bleeding nose.

When the blade withdraws from Poe's gut, everything he has left seems to pour out after. They fall away from each other - Kylo Ren catching himself on his feet and watching in wide-eyed panic as Poe smashes the black helm against the floor.

It crumples like brittle clay, shattering and cutting Poe's fingers as it nearly explodes, flying in all directions. The pieces go everywhere, flying into the shadows, but the visor stays intact somehow, spinning and sliding out of Poe's reach over the floor until it eases to a stop. It lays gleaming on the stone like s serpent eating it's own tail.

Poe sobs out a frustrated breath; he has nothing left. _I failed._

Kylo Ren will recover and be on him in an instant. Poe tries to pick himself up again, but his body is too injured, his muscles have severed ties with his will.

Kylo Ren steps out of the shadows, bare faced and furious, sword lifted and humming - _screaming_ \- red. Poe braces himself.

But his assailant stops short, pausing next to the silver curse on the floor in the spot of sickly green light and a madness comes into his eyes. The sword raises as if by its own will and severs the silver lines in the middle. Then, as if a levee has broken, Kylo Ren - Ben - strikes it again and again, furious and snarling. The crazy light cast from his glowing blade shows his features in agony, twisted as if he were excising pieces of himself with each strike. 

Poe moves back, making himself very small. This animal ferocity will not break until it is expended. So small a target seems likely to leave a surplus.

When it is reduced to slices that glow at the edges from the heat of Ben's sword, he seems to gather his wits back to himself. The floor in a ten foot radius is a scarred wreckage. Ben takes a deep breath. From behind, Poe sees the rise and fall of his shoulders. Ben crushes the largest piece under his boot. It is a slow, deliberate motion.

The lights around them all go out, vanishing in an instant and plunging them into a blackness that Poe's eyes aren't ready for. The burning blade is the only light.

Ben extinguishes it, and Poe can almost feel the weight of the earth and darkness pressing in on him. 

"Ben," he calls, unsure what will happen when all of the magic fades out of this place. His voice doesn't seem to carry very far. 

"Snoke will still come," Ben's voice carries back, as if from a great distance. "He'll still want her."

"Ben?" Poe asks again, after a moment in dark silence. The space around him seems to contract. Pain emerges at last from behind the adrenaline. No answer comes.

He's alone, underground. Poe lays back, trying to move carefully assess his injuries. He touches the wound in his side, first, and his hand comes away wet, his fingers find a ragged hole.

_Well, I'm already buried down here,_ he thinks, on the edge of hysteria. Poe clamps his good hand over the injury. The other is broken at the wrist, he thinks. His fingers feel numb and swollen. The rest - whatever he took from the fall - is a chorus of inseparable pain behind the fresh wound in his side. 

"If you were going to change your mind about whose side you were on," Poe utters, so that the silence doesn't get to him. "You could have at least gotten me out of here."

There's no answer, no echo. The air around him is dead and still. Poe lifts his hand over his head, half afraid that he'll feel a solid rock wall there like the lid of a coffin. He doesn't. He has that much space, at least. Space and silence and air that's starting to taste too warm. Beneath him, between himself and the rock floor, he can feel a spreading damp. He can't tell if it's his own blood or just water coming up from the ground.

_If I get out of here,_ , Poe thinks, as a ringing forms in his ears and sweat springs up on his skin. _I'm never going in a cave again._

He can feel his own heart pounding, even as his vision whites over, and he loses track of time and space.

-

- _Poe!_ -

The thought that drags him up is not his own.

- _Poe!_ -

It's urgent and familiar somehow, his sluggish thoughts try to get ahold on it, but seem to slip off again and again. 

"I'm here," he calls, but his voice comes out weaker than he expects.

- _I hear you!_ \- the voice in his mind almost breaks with relief. - _We're almost there, just hang on!_ -

Poe has no other option, really. His body feels stiff and sore, all his joints are unwilling to answer his wishes. But someone is coming for him, and that gives him enough strength to stay awake at least.

"Hurry," he says, mouth dry, thirsty - _so_ thirsty. Poe has never wanted a glass, a _sip_ of water more in his entire life. "I'm hurt."

Worry pours through the connection, and support and love.

- _Rey and Finn are here_ \- the voice tells him. - _We found the entrance. Be strong, we're almost through._ -

He doesn't know how the voice can hear him, but he doesn't care. He thinks he can hear someone coming somehow. Through the earth.

He thinks if he had any moisture left in his body, he'd be crying. Rey and Finn are here, and he's not alone anymore. Whatever comes after, it will be okay.

Suddenly a blinding beam of sunlight floods the space. Poe has to close his eyes against it, they feel burned by so much light after so long in the dim. The air that floods in after is sweet and fresh and he can hear his friends voices again at last.

-


	14. Chapter 14

He becomes aware slowly. First, the softness of his surroundings; a soft bed beneath him, a depth of pillows supporting his body, which seems nearly to float. A soft, gentle touch over his face, fingers ever-so-gently parting and shifting through his hair. An affection that shows through easy, soothing touches so that Poe wakes easy.

"Rey," the voice is smooth and rich, bringing up a low joy in Poe before he's sure why. "I think he's waking up."

It's like a cue that reminds Poe he can wake. That his eyes can open. _Have I been asleep?_ If so, his dreams have been merciful. A second hand joins the first in touching him; cooler, more delicate fingers laying against his brow like his mothers used to, and it seems to refresh Poe some.

He blinks his eyes open, swallows, feeling his body begin to to come to life around him again. He feels like he's slept a century.

Above him, the sweet and intent face of Finn and Rey, both smiling as if they haven't seen him in that long, watching him wake up and his own smile helplessly answer theirs. He can feel their warm, reassuring presence, his body cradled gently between theirs. Warm. Relief floods him, as if a switch has been thrown open inside Poe.

Details filter in slowly. Overhead, past their intent faces, he can see the gauzy white-gold canopy, and light filtering in from the window. 

_Canopy?_ It registers strangely, ringing some distant, hazy bell in Poe's thoughts before - 

Poe sits up sharply, dislodging the blanket and gentle hands, waking a chorus of aches.

_I can't be here! This is the Princess' bed!_

"Poe," Rey says, reaching for him. "You're safe, it's okay."

It's _not_ okay. The seneschal is going to lose his _mind_.

"Shh," Finn is saying at his other ear, low. He presses a gentle, broad palm on Poe's chest and both of them guide Poe back down into the blankets gently, but firmly. "You're still injured."

"This isn't my bed," Poe protests.

Finn and Rey exchange glances.

"We put you here so we could keep an eye on you," Rey tells him. "I wanted to be sure you were healing."

Poe realizes he's been bandaged, that most of his sharpest hurts have been soothed. The certainty that Rey and Finn have seen to his injuries with their own hands fills him with apologetic dread. There's a gigantic, overwhelming quality to it, to being home and _safe_ , after what's felt like so long.

Poe puts a hand on the well-tended hole in his side as if it might at any moment begin to gush blood again. All he can think to say is, "I might bleed on your sheets."

"I saw to your wounds myself," Rey says, drawing up over him with an authoritative expression that comforts Poe. "Are you suggesting that my work doesn't have your confidence?"

"They're just sheets, Poe," Finn assure shim, gently.

Rey wrinkles her nose, letting her royal act drop. They both still have their hands on him, reassuring, as if he might try to get away.

"I never liked them much anyway," she says.

"Me either," Finn confesses. "I'm so glad _that_ awkward conversation is out of the way."

"Which?" Rey asks him.

"You know, 'hey, Princess, I like everything about you but I keep falling out of bed...'"

Rey laughs, genuine. Poe feels trapped between them, pinned in place by his own guilty joy at being here. It feels like stolen pleasure.

Rey looks back at Poe, smiling. "No. We're not worried about the sheets. It's much harder to replace Knight-Commanders."

"Even harder to replace _friends_ ," Finn stresses. "What made you go after him by yourself?"

Poe nearly crumples under the gentle concern. He hardly deserves it. "I-uh."

They wait. Poe closes his eyes. He _has_ to admit it. Has to tell them that he doesn't deserve so much devotion; that he's not worthy of their friendship and attention. 

"I was captured," he admits. "Kylo Ren needed information about the wards - he's under the control of the Fae King. He was looking for a weakness."

Poe hesitates. He closes his eyes so he doesn't have to see their betrayed expressions. "I gave him everything I knew."

Silence answers, seeming shocked - judgmental. Words pour out of him, thick with guilt."I tried to stop him, but I wasn't strong enough. He reached in and _took_ it. I couldn't keep him out, I just-"

"Poe," Finn says, cutting through his words. "You did stop him. You _fought_ him."

"No," Poe says. "he knows how the wards work. He was going to come after Rey."

"But you stopped him," this is Rey's voice. Her slim, strong hand curls under his chin, pulling. Poe closes his eyes tighter, shaking his head. Was he such a good liar that they'd always believe the best of him, even when he'd failed?"

"Poe," Rey's voice commands his attention. "You fought Kylo Ren and destroyed King Snoke's hold over him. Look at me."

It's an oder. Poe does, afraid of what he'll see.

"I couldn't resist his magic," Poe says. "All I had left to offer... I had to stop him. I could only make it up as a Knight should. As a shield."

 _Now_ , Rey looks upset.

Poe digs deeper, helpless. If he's going to break everything, they might as well _know_.

"I love you. Both of you. And that was how he could _get_ so much. I lied, so that I could still be near you. If I had just-"

He runs out of steam. If he'd told the truth, earlier, they would have put him at a distance. Maybe none of this would have happened, but Poe's not sure he could have survived. He waits for the axe to fall. 

Rey is looking at him with some strange, deeply penetrating gaze, and when Poe looks away in shame, he finds himself facing Finn's thoughtful look.

"You love us, huh?" he asks, eyes bright. Hopeful? It doesn't _sound_ like the beginning of a condemnation. "Care to elaborate?"

"I," Poe starts, compelled to answer _somehow_ though he has no idea what he intends to say. He'd said all that, and _this_ is what Finn is fixating on? "Uh, Sir, I don't know how much I _should_. I think Rey is smart and wonderful and beautiful, I think you're amazing, and you're both perfect in this completely indefinable way and I - well. It's wrong and strange. I _know_ it is, but I want to be with both of you. Like, forever."

"That's pretty elaborate," Rey says. She doesn't sound angry.

_Am I still asleep?_

"You must be pretty jealous of me, huh?" Finn asks, pulling Poe's attention back to him before he can even begin to figure this out.

"No, not jealous," Poe says. He hadn't expected to be required to elaborate before they threw him out. His mind is whirling, flying around like a bird circling cage bars. "I mean, Rey is really happy, and you're so happy. I like _you_ just as much, sir. And - uh - in the same sort of way. It's not that I want to take someone's place."

_Too far, Dameron, you're saying too much!_

"Then, what?" Rey asks, and Poe looks back toward her.

"I guess," Poe starts, feeling like a kid at the front of class, forced to admit that his innermost desire is to have everyone else's cookies. "I want both of you, somehow? I can't dream of breaking up two people who are so happy, but I want to be a part of that so badly. In a 'more than friends' way."

 _There._ That's all of it. It sounds both selfish and ridiculous to his own ears. He knows it can't happen, that it shouldn't. Poe looks down at his own hands on the beautifully embroidered comforter, tense. Maybe the hammer will fall gently.

"Why didn't you say so earlier?" Finn asks him.

"What?"

Rey answers Finn's question. "Because he doesn't know a perfectly good invitation when it bites him on the nose."

"What?" Poe repeats, looking up at her, lost. _She can't mean..._

"We kept trying to bring you along," Rey informs him. "But you always pulled away."

"Yeah," Finn chimes in. "What's with that?"

"I mean," Rey says. "I knew there was something there, but I wasn't sure how to bring it up and-"

"We thought maybe we were wrong," Finn adds. 

"He got out of bed before the sun was up just so you could beat him up," Rey reminds him.

"Not _just_ so he could beat me up," Poe protests.

"We weren't wrong," Rey continues. "I just thought maybe you were still sorting it out for yourself."

Poe looks back and forth between them again, not sure how to make sense of what he's hearing. They don't look like they're joking, but they can't possibly mean what it sounds like.

"What are you saying?" he asks at last, desperate for his world to make sense again.

Rey leans over him, sliding her hand across his chest and looking down at Poe. He freezes, still and uncertain as if he were transported back to his _teens_ again and terrified of making the wrong move.

"Can I kiss you?" Rey asks, cutting to the point.

Poe looks helplessly at Finn.

"I'm next, hotshot, don't look at me," Finn says. 

"Yes?" Poe says carefully, as if it were a test question he might get incorrect.

"Mm," Rey muses, leaning lower and teasing him now. "Try again, like you mean it."

"Yes ma'am," Poe breathes, as she leans down close enough that he can feel her breath on his skin. He lifts his hands to rest over her shoulders - at _last_.

She kisses him deeply, without reserve; Rey is as aggressive a kisser as she is with magic and staff. Her mouth is warm, soft, but she presses her tongue against Poe's teeth like conquering territory and then her hands are in his hair and the world is nothing but her mouth and what she's doing to Poe with it. It drops him down out of reality, into some world where time runs slower and things he never expected exist, and he feels more complete. 

When it ends, Rey is grinning like she just defeated the First Order all over again,a nd Poe has to catch his breath.

Finn graciously gives him a few seconds before his warm dark hand gently turns Poe's chin up and toward him.

 _He - wasn't kidding_ , Poe thinks nonsensically as Finn's mouth closes over his own. It's full of care, slow and coaxing, just as intense as Rey's kiss but sweeter. Softer. 

It's the moment that suddenly makes this all real; that wakes it from a fairy-tale dream to something that's really happening, _right now_. A guilty thrill of pleasure suffuses him. Poe feels Rey's hands on his chest at the same time that Finn's weight presses against his side, grounding him between them. Comfortable. 

There's a long moment of resonant silence, afterward. Poe settles back against Rey's pillows, beneath the comforter he wants desperately not to bleed on, and realizes his world has begun to shift and change.

"Next time," Rey says, smugly, settling her cheek against Poe's shoulder. "Don't keep secrets."

"Are you still going to call me Knight-Commander?" Poe asks, when his thoughts turn back on. 

"Are _you_ still going to call me 'princess'?" Rey asks him.

"Only when it will make you mad," Poe admits.

-

His first night in their bed is a long, slow, quiet affair. He'd slept too much during the day to get back to his dreams easily, and he wakes up between them in the dark of night with a sore body in the soft, comfortable bed. He's surrounded by the people he cares about the most, including Beebee curled up asleep on his chest.

It's his mind that doesn't want to settle. Everything should be easy. Instead, his mind finds a thousand trails to chase and runs down them recklessly at full speed.

If he wasn't trapped underneath the two bodies he most desperately wanted to be next to - and his mind is still wrapping around _that_ \- then he'd drag himself out of bed and indulge in a little night flying. No matter what Healer Kalonia might say - he'd been underground so long it feels good to breathe new air. Flight is the next step for Poe, he just doesn't want to wake up his companions.

He's still restless.

Beebee stirs, yawning herself awake and stretching a small paw out possessively over Poe's chest.

- _Whh-?_ \- She inquires, with a sleepy noise in his mind. Beebee looks up, her eyes gleaming in the bright moonlight. - _What's got you up?_ -

Poe can't answer her without maybe waking up Rey - she's tucked under his injured arm with her hand cupped halfway over the old scar on his collarbone. Finn's pressed against his other side, along the curve of his body.

Poe shakes his head, as small a motion as he can manage. Beebee's sharp, bright gaze turns side to side once, then she looks positively devilish, hunkering down over him.

- _Didn't I tell you that you should have told them?_ \- Beebee says, shifting lazily onto her side. - _Instead, you had to go and get yourself lost._ -

Both of Poe's hands are trapped. He shakes his head at Beebee again.

- _Well, for all that, it worked,_ \- Beebee tells him. _Does this mean I can spend as much time with Rey as I'd like? She knows just where and how to scratch._ -

Her tiny claws needle his skin through his thin night shirt, as if in demonstration.

"Not in public," Poe whispers, having visions of dire consequences if their unorthodox and fledgling arrangement is discovered.

Beebee's eyes gleam wickedly. 

"I mean it," Poe whispers, with as much urgency as he can manage without raising his tone. The union between Rey and Finn is intended to be a symbol of unity between the two nations. No matter what their personal feelings, they must uphold the sanctity of the marriage in public, at least.

It's part of the cost of being figure heads for a people that badly need an era of hope. Perhaps selfishly, Poe thinks that they deserve to have privacy and secrets of their own, too. They may be the future King and Queen, but they're still Rey and Finn. So long as the three of them are careful...

- _There you go, making fences again,_ \- Beebee says. - _Just_ trust _us, and try to be happy for once._ -

"Us?" Poe whispers.

Finn shifts at his side,making a small noise of protest as he starts to wake up. Poe freezes still and silent, wishing he could soothe Finn back to sleep, but all he can manage is to slide his trapped fingers against Finn's side in vague reassurance.

- _Your family,_ \- Beebee says. Then, she crawls over Rey rudely before Poe can answer or stop her, and drops to the floor, trotting off into some dark corner and abandoning him to his fate.

Rey makes a warm, curious noise, shifting against Poe sweetly, comfortably. Her eyes blink open in the dim, blue light. She glances up at him across a very small span, and he feels the motion of her skin across his own.

"Can't sleep?" she asks.

"Sorry I woke you," Poe says, lifting his hand, giving himself permission to touch her hair.

Rey yawns, a big puff of warm air against his side. 

"It's alright," Rey assures him, seeming unconcerned with waking Finn. "Where's Beebee going?"

"She didn't say," Poe says. "Sulking. I think she's upset that I said she shouldn't be too intimate with you in public."

"Why'd you say that?" Finn yawns, curiously. He sounds sleepy, but presses closer to Poe's side.

"Uh," Poe says, supposing he should explain the social aspect, but he doesn't want to come across as patronizing, and it's a little hard to think with both of them awake and warm and moving against him in the close darkness. "It says something we don't necessarily want to advertise when someone's friendly with a familiar that isn't theirs."

"Really?" Finn asks, looking at Rey for confirmation.

"Well," she says. "People will make assumptions if they see it."

"I just thought it meant you were friends," Finn admits.

"It usually does," Poe says. "It just also means - or at least everyone will _assume_ it means-"

"Poe doesn't' want people to think we're having sex," Rey says, simplifying things.

"Oh," Finn says, mischievous. Poe feels a little thrill go through him. "You mean, he doesn't want anyone to get the wrong ideas."

His big, broad hand smooths over Poe's stomach and lower, fingers gentle over the bandage on his side.

"More like I don't want the wrong people to get the right idea," Poe says. He amends, hastily, "-if it _is_ the right idea."

Finn's hand is so low on Poe's belly now that it's about to remove any question of how intimate this relationship is going to be. A little voice in the back of Poe's mind tells him to lie back, to let everything wash over him like a riptide. It almost manages to drown out the sound of his conscience - telling him to be honorable. To make sure that no one has any second thoughts and every one knows what they're getting into as Finn's hand pries up the loose waistband of Poe 's pants. He stifles a yelp - it's all happening so _fast_.

"Uh," Poe manages, and then suddenly, Rey's hand is at his knee, sliding up along the inside of his thigh. Poe makes a small, helpless noise of pleasure, feeling goosebumps trailing her touch. 

"It's going to be the right idea," Rey promises him. Poe swallows.

"It, uh," he starts, feeling her nails drag against his skin under the thin fabric. "It doesn't have to be. Sexual."

Rey and Finn both pause in unison, as if they're deeply keyed into each other. As if Poe's the only one who isn't part of the circuit. 

"Poe Dameron," Rey says, firmly, between disbelief and concern. "Are you getting cold feet?"

Put that way, it sounds absurd. He's the oldest one here, he's the one with a reputation for a laissez-faire attitude toward intimacy. Theoretically, this should be an old, familiar routine for him. Yet, with Finn and Rey it _can't_ be that. It already feels bigger than any of that.

Poe sits up. They don't remove their touches from him, but their hands have gone still, steadying rather than teasing. "It's not cold feet. I still want this. I just want to make sure nobody feels _obligated_ \- or like this has to be uh, physical, in order to make me-"

"Poe," Rey says. One single word that stops his voice. She doesn't have to say anything else.

"We got you, buddy," Finn adds. "Nothing is going to happen that all three of us don't want. Rey and I already talked about it."

"You _talked_ about it?" Poe asks, sticking on the point.

"Mmm," Rey says. "We set a couple of boundaries."

"It was a subject of long debate," Finn agrees, cheerfully. "So unless you're saying you don't want to..."

Poe doesn't deserve this, not to be here, stuck between the two most beautiful, infuriating people in his life and hearing that they've previously discussed how much sex they're going to have with him. How he got here is a little concerning, but he'd endure it all again for the same result. He lies back, making the effort required to lift his arms over his head, though his shoulder protests stiffly.

"How exactly did this conversation go?" Poe asks, taking a deep breath, telling himself to relax - his pulse is speeding at the change of potential in the room. Like he's got a livewire current running through him where Rey and Finn are touching him.

"Well," Rey says, purring her words as she shifts - Poe's interruption for the sake of certainty seems not to have given her much pause. "It went a little like..."

She slides her hand up the inside of his thing in a hot, red line that makes him catch his breath in at the same moment Finn surges down the last few inches, and both of them get their hands on his cock together; Rey over his pants and Finn against skin. Poe sucks air through his teeth. The sudden expansion of his ribs stings some, warning him that these efforts will need to be gentle.

Rey and Finn seem to sense it in unison, their touch staying gentle. It's extremely hot, Poe thinks, better than he ever dreamed to have them touching him together, with their bodies pressed tight to either side of him. Their hands are sure and steady, coaxing Poe hard. Their presences are solid and reassuring. He closes his eyes for a long, selfish moment just to feel all of these sensations with his full attention. Finn's skin is rough, dragging against the softer skin of Poe's cock with delicious friction; Rey's touch is strong, pushing the brush of fabric over his balls and up along the underside of his length. There is no confusion or hesitation, but they are almost frustratingly gentle with him.

He twists up when it seems more like teasing to his eager body.

"Relax," Rey commands, and Poe reaches blindly out to pull her in for a kiss. Rey leans up and over him, crushing their mouths together, letting Poe's hand slide over the expanse of her shoulders then drift up against her neck. Her hair is loose and soft, released from the practical hairstyles she used for training, or the more elegant ones she tolerates for affairs of state.

It doesn't, as Poe once envisioned in a moment of extreme weakness, make her look vulnerable.

Then Finn does something extremely clever with his fingers over the head of Poe's cock, and Poe finds himself making warning sounds at this embarrassingly early stage of the game. 

Finn stops abruptly. "You okay?"

"I'm okay," Poe groans, reassuring him. The imminent lightning-strike feeling fades back from him, some. "That's really good. Too good."

Rey laughs at his misfortune - not cruelly but with the promise that she _could_ be, which sends a secret thrill up Poe's spine. She feels it - he can see the understanding on her face already.

"Are we too much for you?" she teases, her chest against his, threading the fingers of her free hand into his hair.

"I just want a chance to reciprocate," Poe says, sliding his hands along her sides.

"There's still an awful lot of clothing on," Finn agrees with him. 

Poe watches them trade smiles, bright in the moonlight and by some mutual agreement, they both get up off him - and the mattress - and begin to undress.

Nervousness hammers at Poe again - he's scarred new and old now, wearing the marks of a lifetime of fighting and flying - only the newest injuries are covered beneath the bandages. He feels certain that Rey will be flawless, that her ability to heal with the force will have allowed her to erase any such imperfections She's a princess, after all. He slides his gaze nervously toward Finn. 

Will she have done the same for her husband-to-be? _Am I about to be the ugly, damaged duckling?_ Finn was a better fighter than Poe - probably his injuries were less severe and further between. He knows that in the past, Rey has healed him, also.

But what reveals itself beneath Finn's shirt - beside his broad chest and strong body - are plenty of well-healed but pale scars. Poe traces one that creeps across Finn's belly with his gaze and feels some old, impossible emotion get bigger in him. Finn kept his scars, of _course_ he did. Probably they are all badges of honor in the First Order, part of his identity like his quick thoughts and bright, nervous smile. Maybe, like Poe, he remembers how he had gotten each one.

Poe won't be the only scarred one in bed, and it brings his excitement back - helped along by the slow reveal of the rest of Finn's body - quickly. He can't wait to get his hands on Finn. To have Finn's hands on _him_ , holding and touching. He has a practical strength, and a promising smile that excites Poe. 

A weight settles down onto the bed on the other side of him, and then the covers that have been protecting his modesty - barely, he's so hard there can't really be any question - are whisked suddenly away.

Rey grins at him, pleased to finally have his attention. She is naked, top to bottom, soft curves that aren't very deep - just right. Strong. Her skin is pink and almost glowing with an excited flush. She too has scars that she keeps, old and corded on her trim but unmistakably feminine form. She and Finn get hold of Finn's sleep pants together - he wonders how he got into them, but supposes the mystery is adequately solved when Rey and Finn get him out of them in one playful move that seems well choreographed.

Poe is the one who'd well and truly made his rounds in pilots and officers of the Resistance, and yet here he is almost paralyzed by something so simple and necessary to what was coming as nakedness. He remembers, then, that he's allowed to want this. That he doesn't have to lay here praying it won't vanish like an inelegant lump. 

"You are both amazing," Poe says, wondering at his good luck. 

"You're not so bad yourself," Finn says, pinning Poe under his hungry gaze.

"Or so we hear," Rey agrees. 

Poe wonders who has been spreading rumors in earshot of the princess. 

Their hands wander in a leisurely fashion, and this time Poe indulges in the wondering exploration. He maps a trail over Rey's skin while Finn traces circles against his back and sides, finding Rey's body flushed warm with beating blood. Finn's fingertips are a little rougher, tighter in places when Poe reaches for him, but no less responsive. Poe finds himself at their center again, pressed tightly with Finn at his front and Rey at his back, like when they'd all ridden Black down to the lake. He promised never to be here again, but Poe is pretty bad at keeping promises he makes to himself.

Rey's mouth closes on his neck, and Poe opens his mouth against Finn's collarbone to pass the contact on. They slide together, gathering friction; Rey's hands are in Poe's hair, Poe gets his hand around Finn's cock and strokes until he's fully hard. Rey reaches over Poe's shoulder and scrapes one of her nails lightly over his nipple until he groans. Until it's too much this way, and then Finn and Rey turn him over between them, onto his other side. Poe can feel Finn's erection sliding up against the curve of his ass in a delicious, tantalizing manner. It only begins to occur to him to wonder just how well Finn knows what he's doing when Rey slings her knee over Poe's hip and both of her hands guide Poe's hand down between her legs, arching her body against his touch. 

Poe returns her earlier favor and strokes his fingers in long, easy motions against her slick, hot center. He can feel Finn's chin on his shoulder, cheek to cheek, looking down between Rey and Poe and watching the motion of Poe's hand - a smooth slide that presses her clit beneath the pad of his index finger at the end of each stroke. He doesn't linger enough for real friction, teasing until she makes a satisfied sound. She rocks her hips against him, counterpoint, providing the firmness of each trust herself as she arches her hips and drives against his hand.

He turns his wrist to press his thumb against her clit in a firm, circling pressure and she grinds against it, shifting and rocking her hips. Poe can't wait to get his mouth on her - to feel her move so responsively against his tongue.

Finn's hand is curled broad and stroking on Poe's cock, pulling and coaxing sweet sounds out of Poe against the soft swell of Rey's chest. Finn's hand spreads something slick between Poe's thighs, pressing against his perineum in a long, slow stroke, kicking up sparks and pressure in Poe's blood as Finn gets tantalizingly close to _just_ where Poe wants him, before surging forward again, cupping his balls on the way past and leaving a slippery-wet and distracting trail against his skin.

Then, Finn slides his cock between Poe's thighs, and Poe is charmed by the practical trick, by the delicious friction against his skin and feeling Finn push in slow, rhythmic surges against his back that rock him against Rey. It's a promise about things to come - not this evening, but when he's healed. When they all belong to each other - written in the easy, steady contact and the firm arm looped around Poe's belly and holding his body against Finn's.

It's so much input, so much motion and tension, all this contact between them. Rey curling around him, clawing at his hair as her body curves into a bow of pleasure. Poe loses himself in her focused expression - Rey's eyes are shut and there's a concentrating wrinkle between her thin eyebrows - for once, she's not baring her teeth at the world. She's fighting toward release, not against it, as Poe finds the capacity to push the distraction of _Finn, right there_ aside. To untangle his attention as it tries to become lost between them. He wants to make them both feel as good as he feels in this instant; overwhelmed by their nearness and connection.

It seems to tug Finn closer, too, the nearer he can feel Rey getting, the more urgent Finn becomes. Normally, he'd rush here - dive in, hurry with more direct contact, but now it's like they're all looped in together and just their hands are enough. It leaves Poe feeling like a conduit, like their pleasure is pouring into his wide open body and pounding against him from all sides. Waves against an ecstatic shore.

Rey's nails dig in at his forearm, her hands tight and her hips working as she goes over the edge, flooding against his hand with a sudden wetness against his palm and his name soft in her voice as it presses past her clenched teeth. Finn's hand tightens insistently on Poe's cock, tugging at his release where it's gathering in his belly like winding tension; then his breath hitches once against the back of Poe's neck and the rhythm of his thrust stutters. It's a sound of such unexpected pleasure, an earnest echo of the sudden unspooling that happens within Poe, pouring out of him into Rey and Finn's joined hands in a rush. A white tide, jerking Poe's thoughts down into nothing and taking his breath with it.

He's aware, dimly, when Finn tips the rest of the way over afterwards -the way he curls into Poe's body, opening his mouth at the back of Poe's neck and pressing his teeth enough to leave a mark, his hands mindful of the injury even as his body curls into Poe's and he cums hard between Poe's thighs. It jets up along the underside of his cock, over their hands and joins the mess below them as they all three float a while in bliss. 

Some new, unusual sensation prickles along the back of Poe's spine. Will this really be his? Forever?

"Wow," Finn breathes, against the forming bruise at the nape of Poe's neck. "Do you feel that?"

"Mmm," Rey agrees, pushing against Poe and mashing his body into Finn's so she can kiss him over Poe's shoulder. "Something magic happened."

Poe's not sure, and he refuses to push of the afterglow too quickly, if she means that literally.

"Does that - can magic just _happen_ like that?" Finn asks, still catching his breath.

"Sometimes," Rey says, still breathing hard. "but I wouldn't say 'just' like there was no effort involved."

"Are you always philosophical after sex?" Poe murmurs, his own voice sounding wrecked and bleary to his ears.

"Stick around," Rey says, slapping Poe's ass with a wet-palmed _smack_ that sounds like a decisive punctuation to her words. All sound and no real sting. "You'll find out."

"I'm not going anywhere," Poe says, already drifting toward sleep. 

"Good," Finn murmurs against Poe's neck. He lays one protective hand - carefully wiped clean somewhere on the hated sheets - over the bandages on Poe's side. Rey covers it with her own, affectionately. Finn continues, "We just got you back, anyway."

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took a little bit longer than usual, but it's also more than double the size! It took me a while to get the dynamics the way I wanted. There's still a lot of story to come, so thanks for hanging in there and see you again on time next week!


	15. Chapter 15

They quickly discover what new magic they've caused. Rey only allows them a very short nap before she demands they clean up at least a little bit.

Poe is still half-asleep when Rey steps into the screened wash area for the basin and murmurs and apology for having upset Beebee - obviously not nearly as far away from Poe as he might have liked, given what they'd been up to.

"Sorry, Beebee, I need that towel," Rey apologizes.

Poe hears her sleepy yawn.

- _For you, okay._ -

Rey squeaks and drops something audibly, startling both Finn and Poe.

"Did you just speak?" Rey asks, then clarifies. "To _me_?"

- _Mmm,_ \- Beebee affirms. - _You talked to me, first._ -

"Can you hear this?" Finn asks Poe, bewildered.

"Oh, kriff," Poe says.

- _I can hear you too, Big Deal_ \- Beebee calls.

"Poe?" Finn asks.

"That's Beebee," he clarifies. She trots out from behind the screen, her dark eyes gleaming as she makes for the bed.

- _Of course it is,_ \- she agrees, as if not a single thing is wrong. - _It smells bad up there. Groom yourselves._ -

"Oh, _kriff_ ," Poe repeats, feeling his ears burn with preemptive embarrassment. "Is this permanent?" 

When it fails to wear off by the time Poe has recovered from his injuries, they're forced to accept that it isn't going away. Beebee refuses to explain the change, leading Poe to believe she doesn't understand it any more than he does.

Otherwise, things return quickly to normal. Perhaps - since Kylo Ren has been thwarted by the wards - they hadn't ever really changed that much in the rest of the castle in the first place.

Poe sneaks guiltily back to his room on the third day, but all that means is they all go back and forth between their three quarters, spending all their time together anyway.

One such afternoon, Rey is seated on his desk, Poe in the chair adjacent, and Finn is resting off the morning's exercise by sprawling peacefully on Poe's bed with one hand behind his head and the other stroking over Beebe's back in a very distracting way. Rey and Finn may be able to _hear_ Beebee now, but she's still Poe's bondmate.

"I'd like to get out for a flight tomorrow," Poe laments."Black must have been restless while I was gone."

Rey and Finn exchange glances.

"He did get up to a little mischief," Finn allows. 

"Mmm-hmm," Rey agrees, cryptically. 

"Well," Poe says, not sure he wants the story. "I'm sure the other pilots are feeling ready for a little less duty."

"Knight-Commander," Rey says, smiling at her chance to use the title. "Are you asking for permission?"

"More like announcing my intent and seeing if anyone protests," Poe says. "Captains Wexley and Kentalen seem to have done a fine job, but if I leave it all to them for much longer I'll have to promote Snap again."

"I don't know if I could handle _two_ Knight-Commanders," Rey says. "I'd have to promote you."

"No more promotions," Poe groans, smiling at her.

"People would say you're sleeping your way to the top," Finn agrees, rubbing behind Beebee's ears in a way she deeply approves of. She's laid out practically prone on his chest, limbs extended in a picture of bliss.

"Well," Poe says, leaning back in his chair smugly. "I _am_ sleeping my way to the top."

Rey nudges him with her foot. "You're fine to fly. And it'll do good for Black to get some exercise."

"Forget Black, It'll do _me_ some good," Poe says. "The castle is nice, but it's starting to feel like a second prison."

Neither of them try to talk Poe out of it, maybe understanding that protest will only make him feel more reckless, or maybe they just have that much faith in him. The depth and breadth of how much they believe in him continues to surprise and warm Poe.

"How did you ever find me?" Poe asks, suddenly curious.

"Beebee made it known that you were missing," Rey reveals.

- _Kidnapped,_ \- Beebee clarifies. - _But it was harder for you to understand me, then._ -

"I found a hole in the courtyard wards, but I couldn't figure out where it might lead. Even if I could have, it wasn't likely that they'd open a waypoint to their stronghold."

"Then I remembered that big book," Finn adds. "The on on your bedside table for so long."

"Yeah!" Rey says, excitedly. "Finn combed through that whole thing until he found the information we needed."

"Seems like you can get into the Fae kingdom if certain conditions align," Finn explains. "But figuring out which ones were actually possible took a little while."

"Sorry we couldn't get to you sooner," Rey tells him. "We'd have had to capture Kylo Ren himself to get in any faster than at the full moon, and he was staying out of sight for once."

"You came just in time," Poe says. "Not too late. That's all that matters."

Rey kicks her heels into the open space of the footwell under Poe's desk.

"I think a few other things matter," she says.

Poe has a feeling she isn't just talking about the upcoming wedding.

-

"Commander," Wen Kentalen greets Poe with his blank gaze when he arrives in the dragon mews, as Beebee calls black. "The patrol route was clear this morning. The First Order is running drills today, so if you see their wings up there's no need for concern."

Poe's not entirely sure how he knows, but he hasn't been wrong yet. _Probably some combination of Blue and Seven helping him._

"Congratulations on your promotion, Captain," Poe tells him, even though it's old news now.

"Thank you, Knight-Commander," Kentalen says, with a salute. His familiar; a small, nearly black falcon with a white belly, peers intently at Poe. "It's good to have you back as well."

He hesitates as Black descends onto the platform to be saddled. "Do you have any new pilots in mind?"

The question seems almost nonsensical. For new pilots, they'd need new mounts - usually the result of a nest of eggs outside of wartime. It hasn't happened for a long time - they'd gone so far as to raid wild nests to supply the Resistance. 

" _Should_ I be considering new pilots?" Poe asks.

"Probably, sir," Kentalen tells him, smiling. Seven fluffs up the feathers on his crest in an amused gesture, and then they both leave Poe to consider what he could mean.

- _There's a_ nest _of course,_ \- Beebee tells him smugly, climbing up to her perch as Poe saddles Black and climbs into his flight harness.

"Really?" Poe asks.

- _Your Black has charmed one of the reds,_ \- Beebee tells him.

"Not Snap's old girl?" Poe asks, somewhat mortified.

Beebee doesn't answer. Poe tries not to let the good news worry him. He gives Black a solid, congratulatory pat on the shoulder, and prepares for flight. Things are somehow turning around again. Beginning something new. Poe can't quite forget that there's at least one threat to it, out there somewhere.

"Well," he tells the dragon, who gives Poe a suspicious glance when he tightens the girth. "I hope you're ready to work off all that extra rest."

If Black seems to take a little longer to get off the ground with his burden, Poe doesn't comment on it. He flies a wide patrol instead, heading all of the way to the borders of the First Order just to really stretch his wings and have a chance to think. He knows he should tell Leia, somehow. She needs to know.

Ben may have broken free of the Fae King's hold for now, but Poe's sure that he'll still be a target if he's out there alone. He remembers the boy in the rose garden, a bittersweet memory. Ben isn't dead, but that boy is gone.

In the far distance he can see the foreboding First Order capital fortress. It is more military base than city, laid out in perfect squares and grids. The fields surrounding it are kept flat and empty for the conduction of military drills.

A glint of brilliant silver catches his eye and he sees one of the First Order sky patrols, flying in an arrowhead wing-shape, along the border on their side. Their leader is outfitted in gleaming silver armor, and she signals with a square flag, vertically striped in red, white, and blue. _Tango,_ Poe thinks, banking Black and dragging out his red and white pennant. He remembers enough semaphore to heed the warning, anyway, and he had no intent to dart into the flight path of a whole wing of First Order pilots, even if he _can_ fly circles around them. 

He already feels taxed - sore where his muscles are healing over his injury, and the return to activity after a long time without. No need to take a chance that might injure him again, if only so that he can keep flying.

Phasma - the leader of the wing in her silver armor - seems satisfied with his signal. Likely she recognizes him by sight as easily as he does her. It doesn't feel nearly as strange to essentially wave in passing to the First Order as they flew by as Poe would have guessed. 

- _What are you going to do about their familiars?_ \- Beebee asks.

"That's for the leaders to figure out, buddy," Poe says, tucking the flag away into the pouch behind his saddle. "Maybe with time, they'll be more understanding."

Beebee's tail sweeps side to side once, angrily. - _Just so long as_ we _aren't the one's to change._ -

"Nobody's going to treat you that way, don't worry," Poe promises. 'Both sides are going to change a little, that's how these things go, but I trust Rey and I trust Finn."

Beebee seems to agree.

"Besides, if the Fae King is still out there, we're going to need the First Order's help," Poe says.

Beebee doesn't seem to like that idea, but she doesn't argue, either.

-

The King is waiting in the mews when Poe comes in to land, and Poe's heart and stomach endure a rapid descent into his boots as he tries to salute and keep his seat at the same time.

- _Don't fall off,_ \- Beebee warns him, in a flat tone that says she isn't impressed with his antics.

Poe reaches up as casually as he can manage and covers her entire head with his cupped palm to shush her without having to say anything. He can feel her indignant protest, but she keeps it non-verbal at least.

He climbs down from Black's saddle and offers a polite bow from the waist. 

"I never got a chance to welcome you back home," Skywalker says, looking Poe over in his usual way. Something about him seems detached from the world, above and beyond it while at the same time more connected than anyone else could be.

Poe falls to parade rest with Beebee on his shoulder clearly looking for Artoo. He tries to channel all of his tension into his joined hands where they're hidden behind his back. He's not sure if it works, but it's better to present a calm facade.

"Finn and Rey spirited you away so quickly," Skywalker continues, amplifying Poe's nerves. "But it seems they got you back on your feet just as fast."

Poe doesn't argue that he's pretty sure he pushed too hard. His side aches and his thighs are sore from the flight. He wants little more than a long soak in a hot bath, but first he has to face what he expects to be some fairly serious music. _Does he know? He doesn't look upset..._

Instead, Poe says, "It feels good to get back in the air, your majesty," because it's true and he always feels uncomfortable telling even polite lies to royalty. 

Skywalker looks at the circle of open sky overhead."I'll bet."

A moment of curiosity overwhelms Poe. "Do you get to fly very often anymore, sir?"

Skywalker drops his gaze, looking at Poe again. For a moment, there's the cameraderie of two longtime pilots. More connection than Poe's ever felt with Rey's father. 

"Not as much as I'd like," he admits.

Poe realizes that the King probably isn't here to discuss flying or dragons. He also doesn't seem to be here to raise an objection to Poe's involvement with the future king and queen.

"What can I do for you, sir?" Poe asks.

Skywalker smiles almost sheepishly. "I was hoping you could go over a few things from the report with me."

"Report?" Poe asks, uncertain.

"Rey and Finn gave me most of the details of how and why you were captured," Skywalker says. "But I have a few questions."

"Of course, sir," Poe says, letting blood flow back into his fingers. _Maybe he doesn't know._

"Walk with me?" Skywalker requests. "When you're done with Black, of course."

Poe hurries to pull the harness and kit off his dragon, sure that Black is eager to get back to his nest. He'll have to properly clean and wax his equipment later. 

Skywalker does not lead him down into the town this time, but back through the halls of the castle. After so long away, the castle seems to be made of light and air. At least, Poe _thinks_ it was a long time. It seems to be, though when he tries to count meals or days in his mind, the whole thing starts to blur his perception. It gets fuzzy. The castle is much the same, the seasons don't seem to have advanced too far, and while he know he was only gone for a few weeks from what both of his friends and Beebee have told him - it feels like an age has passed.

Like Poe has been displaced in time, somehow. If it weren't for how Rey and Finn seemed to ground him, he feels at times as if he might float off. The king is quiet for a time, also, as if giving Poe time to organize his thoughts.

Finally, he begins, "What can you tell me about Kylo Ren?"

Poe has begun half a dozen letters to Queen Organa, but found no adequate way to express what needs to be said.

"He can use Force magic," Poe says. "Maybe Fae magic as well; given time, he can read minds."

He clips the words out carefully, pushing away the painful part of the memory. It's another scab in his thoughts that he doesn't pull at, like the day his parents...

"I think he's human. Snoke - the Fae King - had put some spell on his helmet to keep him in check," Poe says, flexing his fingers at the memory of broken magic pouring out between them as he broke the charm or spell or whatever it was. "Kylo Ren believed he was Fae, that he was Snoke's heir."

"And you don't think he was?" Skywalker asks.

It's one of his habits, to ask what seems like an obvious question with a clear answer. He wants _Poe's_ thoughts on this, without making any influential statements.

Poe wonders how many people lie to the King in order to keep from making him unhappy. 

"No, sir," Poe says, thinking, _I may not tell him everything true, but I'll always answer his questions truthfully_. "I believe that Kylo Ren is Ben Organa, and that he remembers who he is, now."

Skywalker pauses, his features serene. He gives nothing away, if he's surprised at all. _Maybe he's not convinced._

"I think that the real Fae child was carefully groomed to trade placed with Ben, right before the betrayal," Poe forges on, explaining to the king's unchanging features. He _knows_ he's right. "Maybe they even switched several times before that day. But then I don't know if it was _supposed_ to happen or something went wrong, but it was the changeling you killed when he betrayed you. Not Ben."

Poe _wants_ to think that the king knew, that he knew all along and only raised his sword because he was sure what he was killing was a monster.

Skywalker just nods. "I believe you are right. Did you see the Fae King at all?"

It's no answer to all of Poe's burning questions, but he knows better than to try and pry anything out of the king. All he'll get for asking are riddles or nothing. Poe will have better luck with Queen Organa, and now he has an excuse to bring her news - he's not sure if it's good or bad. 

"I saw an - _image_ of him, I think. Some kind of projection. It was speaking to Ben - to Kylo Ren."

Skywalker nods. "Did you learn what he's after?"

_It sounds like he already knows_ , Poe thinks. _I wonder if he'd tell me any of this If I hadn't worked it out for myself._

"He wanted Rey," Poe says. "I think he wasn't pleased with Kylo for some reason - he wanted a replacement."

Skywalker's expression changes at last, and he stops walking, stepping out into the sunlight through an open archway, and into the rose garden. 

Poe almost doesn't recognize it - it has been stripped of all the debris, the dead branches cut from the old bushes so that new green shoots can form. The space is open now, the dead brown leaves and dirt swept off the path, and the marble square in the center where Finn and he practice. Someone has been hard at work, and the plants will soon be covered with leaves again.

"He said that he intended to take back what belonged to the Fae," Poe continues at length, still distracted by the change. "I guess that's sort of like trying to rule the world, if you believe the old stories that Fae used to be the ones with all the power."

Poe glances back at the King for confirmation, and then realizes how far his tone has slipped into casual address.

"Uh, sir," he appends.

Skywalker makes no comment on his impropriety. 

"The Skywalker line stole their magic from the Fae, as far as he's concerned," Skywalker says. "But if they did, it was so long ago that only he remembers."

Poe smiles a little. From what he remembers of the old stories, the Fae had stolen more and worse from men than magic. "Do you think it's true, sir?"

The King smiles at Poe, a small but genuine gesture. "The way I heard it from my grandmother was that we didn't exactly _steal_ it, but we did outfox the Fae King in one of his cruel tests and he was forced to let us keep it."

"That sounds a bit more like the Skywalkers that Poe knows, but who could really guess about their ancestors?

"Either way, attempts at a peaceful solution have been made in the past," Skywalker continues. "Snoke will not accept any compromise - in his memories, the taste of absolute power is too sweet."

"Well," Poe says, unsure how they're going to stop something so far beyond their reach. Certainly not with anything he'd read in the history book. "I don't know how we can fight him. I couldn't even find my way out of that prison he was holding Ben and I in."

"Leave that to me," Skywalker says. "You have a big enough job commanding our pilots - I should know. I'm still expecting you to watch out for Rey and Finn as well."

Poe hesitates. "I can guard them, of course, sir, but I'm not any good as a chaperon."

He hopes that's not _too_ close to the truth. 

"So Seneschal Tarkin tells me," Skywalker admits. "Tell me, Knight-Captain, do you feel they need one?"

"All due respect sir, I've known Rey - the Princess, I mean - a long time," Poe says, stealing himself into real honesty. "No she does not."

The King smiles, fondly. Affectionate. His eyes are distant in the late afternoon sun. He nods once, as if acknowledging a great wisdom.

"Good," Skywalker says, as if deeming Poe's answer correct. He adds; "and I think it's about time you stopped calling me 'sir', if you're going to be a proper part of this family."

Poe's heart nearly stops. A quiet, consumptive panic overtakes him. _He knows. How much? Of course he knows, Dameron, he's a druidic jedi!_

All he manages to get out is a hesitant, "-sir?"

"I figure if we're hatching a nest together," the king says. "you can probably start calling me Luke."  
-


	16. Chapter 16

Poe buries his mortification in Finn's pillow, spread face down on his bed and petrified by the knowledge that there's nothing he can do about it. It shouldn't mean anything. The dragons are unconnected to their pilots, nothing like their bond-mates. It's got no meaning, even among the rank and file pilots. Instead, it's the source of the occasional ribald joke, a sort of friendly understanding that beneath it all dragons were wild creatures, but pilots would poke fun at anything. It was part of the vent for stress. Just another joke to ease the tension of flying big, dangerous animals into battle, thousands of feet above ground.

But he's not sure he can survive even one such joke when the King is involved.

"Poe," Rey says, sounding far more amused than she _should_ be by this turn of events. "It's not that bad."

It isn't. It's embarrassing, in a childish way. Black obviously just chose the best mate - or was chosen by - or - _however_ that worked. Poe just groans. It's terrible.

Finn works his fingers soothingly through Poe's hair, easing over his back. The bed dips suddenly on the other side, and then Rey's hands join Finn's.

"This means there's going to be more dragons, right?" Rey asks, diving into the positives of the situation as if they'll help Poe get over his embarrassment. He nods, once, face still pressed into the pillow.

"So that means more pilots?" she presses. 

Poe is halfway through nodding again when he realizes the thrust of Rey's questions. He lifts himself out of the pillow, looking to see if she's really serious.

Her eyes are bright, youthful, shining with the enthusiasm of her best ideas. She's smiling, brilliant.  
"No," Poe says.

Her smile gets bigger.

"You'd need a familiar," Poe reminds.

"I have Beebee," Rey says.

" _What?_ "

"I mean, if I can hear Beebee, it can't be that far away from being able to impress my own," she explains.

"Oh - no, I, uh," Poe says, feeling distinctly in-eloquent. "I don't think that's how it works."

- _You don't know how it works._ \- Beebee tells him, primly.

"Usually people encounter and bond with familiars when they're young," Poe says. He realizes she still _is_ young. "Like, kids."

Rey is still looking at him intensely, wrapping her mind around a concept. She's not going to let this go.

"Okay, but you and Beebee could fly on a different dragon, right?" Finn asks, jumping into the conversation. "We don't assign specific dragons to pilots in the First Order."

Poe rolls over onto his back, looking at his best loved co-conspirators. They're ganging up on him.

"We _could_ ," Poe has to admit, "but-"

"Could I fly Black with Beebee?" Rey asks, turning her attention onto Beebee.

- _It'd be tricky_ \- Beebee says, as Poe thinks ' _traitor_ ' in her direction as hard as he can. - _But we could do it, with some practice._ -

For a very small moment, Poe feels protective of his place and station. It was, after all, what they had needed him for, the thing that had made him unique, for a very long time. Then, he considers the practical applications - if he's ever lost again, or injury leaves him unable to pilot, he wouldn't trust anyone more with Beebee and Black than these two.

"I'll teach you," Poe says, folding.

"If King Luke can pilot," Finn agrees, "Rey should be allowed to, also."

"It'll be more intimidating than arriving as a passenger," Rey adds. "Plus, I used to practice for _hours_."

This surprises Poe. He hadn't known Rey in her youth - just when all three of them were younger. They'd met in the Resistance, coming together under one banner - the rest was history. He finds it very easy to imagine her looking up at the sky when her life was so tied to the dirt and dreaming. Seeing dragons fly and wanting to spread her wings.

"You'll be good at it," Finn says.

"She's good at everything," Poe agrees. 

Rey, who had beaten them both together at that morning's practice, grins with pleasure at their acknowledgment of her victory. She sits up on her half of the bed imperiously, legs folded beneath her.

"It's not my fault you two can't stop staring at me - or each other - long enough to concentrate."

Poe leans back against Finn in a show of solidarity, smile overtaking him and owning him, bigger and brighter than he can express. 

"It's not like anyone's _really_ the loser," Poe says. "We'll try again tomorrow."

-

Leia catches Poe off-guard, arriving before he expects and ignoring her welcoming party to come straight for him. He has only the warning of Snap's familiar, a bizzare Stork-shaped creature that is usually draped and bedecked in a number of bones and string.

It comes flapping and rattling into the courtyard, catching Poe at sword-form practice.

- _General Organa is coming!_ \- Beebee relays to him, as Mr. Bones squawks and flaps his wings for emphasis. 

"Today?" Poe asks, covered in sweat and dressed in his oldest set of clothes. He plans frantically for a bath, for formal clothes to meet her at the gate.

- _Right now!_ \- Beebee corrects, giving him time only to sheathe his sword and swipe his sleeve over his face before she appears, moving at full tilt and striding purposefully into the courtyard as he snaps to attention. Beebee climbs the back of his leg with indelicate claws as Poe tries not to flinch, settling on his shoulder at they both draw up to a military attention.

She crosses the space in two long strides with her eyes burning and fierce and Poe almost flinches back from _her_ when she steps up toe to toe and reaches for him. Then, her strong arms wrap around his shoulders, pulling him down and forward into a ferocious hug. It's solid, real and bracing and almost angry in its abruptness.

"General?" he asks, frozen in surprise.

"I thought you were done being captured," she hisses against his ear, admonishing him .

Poe breathes out. She was _worried_ about him, just like the old days. He returns her hug at last as she _shakes_ him out of his last attempts to hold attention. She's small, but she doesn't feel that way in his arms. It brings up a fleeting memory of his mother. Of her strong, comforting arms.

"How's your recovery?" she asks - seeing through the situation she'd found him in to the truth behind it.

"Not as fast as I'd like," he admits - she'd caught him at working his shoulder to regain strength and fluidity. The sword work helped to stretch his hands again after the damage done. "But I'm whole."

She pats him once, and then steps back to look at his face, as if seeking a lie, measuring him for falsehood. If anyone could catch a lie in Poe's smile, it's Leia Organa.

"This better be the last time we have to pull you out of the fire, Knight-Commander," she warns.

"Yes ma'am," he says.

Her smile is satisfied, genuine. Leia steps back to a professional distance. Poe returns to parade rest as they both smile their way into business. There is a hopefulness, a restrained eagerness on her features that tells Poe what's coming next.

"Is it true?" she asks him, keeping herself in check, holding a tight rein on her enthusiasm as if she could close her fist and restrain it. Poe wonder how long she's been gathering this small handful to herself.

Poe nods once, feeling his features reassemble themselves for the more serious tone. "I saw him. Snoke was holding him."

"How?" Leia asks, catching Poe's wrists to pull them out from behind his back, holding his hands like his knowledge is deeply important - and to her, of course it is. "How are you sure it's him and not some Fae _copy_?"

Poe takes a deep breath. It's familiar territory, but he suddenly feels uncertain when faced with Leia's passion. A mother's protective desire, the old hope that her son is alive and out there somewhere.

"Why would Snoke have to use binding magic on a Fae?" Poe ventures. "Something about their magic is confusing, almost hypnotic. I figure if Kylo Ren is really a Fae, he'd just _want_ to help return Snoke to total power, right? He'd benefit."

Leia looks at him with naked hope in her eyes,a nd Poe hopes desperately that he's on the right course.

_I don't care if he really_ is _a Fae,_ Poe thinks. _I'll drag him back and teach him to be human myself if it makes the General happy._

Beebee shifts on his shoulder, perhaps intruding on his thoughts.

"He was willing to turn his back once the enchantment was broken," Poe says. "That's not, well, much, but it means there's something else going on at least."

Leia's hands tighten on Poe's once, a brief, thankful squeeze. she looks up at him, pinning him with her hopeful gaze, and then Poe _knows_ ; he understands why she'd come to him first, before she'd even approached her brother.

"Poe," she says seriously. "I have to ask a favor of you. Before I talk to Luke, I-"

She hesitates. Poe turns his hands over in her grip and then lowers himself onto one knee, indicating his willingness to accept the quest.

Maybe, in his head, he'd already been on it. 

"Luke is going to turn his attentions onto Lord Snoke," Leia tells him. "He'll need all his resources, all his pilots. He'll need both Rey and Finn."

Poe waits for the rest. He knows he should carefully consider the weight of these words in respect to the mission she's about to ask him to undertake, but he's already made up his mind. No matter what she asks, he's going to say yes.

"So I need you to be _my_ pilot," Leia says. "When the time is right, I have to ask you to do something selfish for me."

"Anything you ask," Poe says. He knows it's going behind King Skywalker's back, knows he may have to disappoint Rey and Finn. He also knows that General Organa is relying on him, and that this is the right thing to do. 

"Bring Ben back to me," Leia tells him. "The time will be _right_ soon, and it will be a brief window before it may be too late. It's going to be hard, but when I send word..."

"I'll be ready to go," Poe promises, but his thoughts stray traitorously. The wedding is soon. He wants to be there, wouldn't dream of missing something so important to Rey and Finn.

"You can't tell Luke," Leia says, pulling him to his feet. "I promise, I'll take responsibility when the time comes, but he has his way of doing things..."

Leia firms her grip on Poe's hands, clearly pleased with his willingness. It helps firm his resolve. 

"I have mine," she concludes, giving him a grin.

"Yes ma'a'm," Poe says. He can't resist adding a reassurance. "You can count on me."

Leia gives him a wry glance. "You're laying it on thick today, Knight-Commander. I _know_ I can count on you, that's why I'm here."

The statement rings a bright, pleased bell of pride in Poe's soul. She looks him up and down with her penetrative, measuring stare, and _that_ sends a sudden, guilty shiver down his spine. She doesn't miss it.

"Poe Dameron," she says, playfully accusing. Every instant he's spent with Rey and Finn flashes past his mind's eye and he blushes deeply.

"You're hiding something from me," she realizes, her gaze so sharp it could cut him, revealing everything down to his core.

"It's, uh," Poe says.

Leia's chin tips up, her head angling to the side. 

"You committed," she decides.

She measures him again, leaning in closer as he leans away. For a moment, he's sure she knows _everything_ , right down to what color his underwear is. Every kiss he ever stole, every partner he took over the course of his time in the Resistance.

"Good for you," she says, releasing him from the pressure of her gaze. 

Then, like a whirlwind, she's gone, with Threepio trotting anxiously behind her and likely nagging her about the proper order of things.

Beebee is strangely silent, even though something must have passed between their familiars.

-

"So they've moved up the ceremony," Finn explains, as they cross swords. Poe's shoulder feels solid, his arm stronger for the exercise he's been squeezing in around these extra sessions with Finn.

"Is that auspicious?" Poe asks, smiling as he manages a parry - he feels pretty good about this fight. He's learning.

"Well, the Seneschal isn't exactly thrilled," Finn confides, twisting their blades together to shove Poe's weapon side, forcing him back a step as he moves forward. "But with everything else going on, even the Grand General has agreed that the climate is changing. We may-"

Poe disentangles his sword from Finn's with a complicated riposte, redirecting the momentum of Finn's weapon until the swords rasp free from each other.

"Good," Finn praises. As they square off again, he continues, "We may have to fight again. Really fight, if we can't stop Snoke before he can get a new champion or raise more forces."

"Who says he has any more allies?" Poe asks, lunging forward again. They test each other with a few quick thrusts, steel ringing.

"Well, King Luke says he'd be very unlikely to make a move unless he was prepared to follow through," Finn says. "He's been manipulating the situation for years, right?"

Poe parries. "Right."

Finn ripostes, attempting to lock their blades again so that he can use his advantage of strength. "So it's possible that he's got things lined up just the way he wants."

"It can't be _just_ the way he wants," Poe argues. "He's lost his knight."

Finn gives a step as Poe shoves, then flows and changes his stance, entrapping the hilt of Poe's blade with the point of his own thrust over the quillion and into the pas d'ane for the advantage of leverage. He pushes the swords out and to the side, then yanks Poe forward, stepping into it to get ahold of Poe's lapels, pushing his sword off tot he side and leaning in with a grin. 

"Sometimes the key to getting into the right place is letting your enemy think you're in the wrong one," Finn says, leaning in close.

He is breathing hard, eyes shining, and it wakes a low hunger in Poe's belly; a natural extension of all the exertion and tension built up over the fight.

Poe licks his lower lip, withdrawing his tongue over his lower incisors with a slow scrape. "Are you saying you have me where you want me?"

Finn yanks him forward the last couple inches and kisses him,deep and hard until Poe's knees go weak and the tension drops out of his body. Finn's tongue sweeps forward, making a conquering motion over Poe's teeth, flicking into his mouth until Poe leans forward into it.

Then suddenly, Finn makes a motion with his sword arm, yanking the blade from Poe's lax fingers and stepping forward to hook one calf behind Poe's knee, sliding his thigh up against Poes groin before he pushes him off balance and then over backwards, shoving chest-to-chest until Poe goes down, ass first onto the marble square.

Amusement floods him, and Poe flops back, sprawled on the square and laughing.

"Alright," he chuckles, eyes trailing over the fat buds forming on the rose bushes. "you've convinced me. The wedding is just what we need."

Finn sits down next to him, calm and collected, balancing both swords over his knees.

"I'm glad you're on board," he say, sounding a little more serious.

"It's been coming all along," Poe assures him. "I've always been on board. If having the wedding sooner doesn't make you two unhappy - and I _know_ Rey will be glad to get rid of all the extra planning stages - why would I oppose?"

Finn looks at him, arching his brows in entreaty. "Because we want you to be a part of it."

-


	17. Chapter 17

With the wedding imminent - 'two weeks', Rey reminds him cheerfully - planning invades every aspect of life.

"Queen Organa is sending her tailor to help with the dress," Rey confides, her brow stormy as she and Beebee work with Black on the ground, still under Poe's supervision. 

Black keeps looking at Poe in some confusion, and he has to resist the urge to 'help' by reinforcing Rey's commands.

"And you don't like her tailor?" Poe asks, uncertain about what Rey's protesting.

"No," Rey laughs. " _Dresses,_ I don't like _dresses._ "

"You could get married in a military uniform, like Finn," Poe suggests, half-teasing. She plays along for a moment, looking thoughtful.

"I think the Grand General would protest - 'how will we tell the bride from the groom'," Rey speculates, as if that were the only protest there would be.

"That's easy," Poe says. "The bride is the pretty one."

Rey laughs at him. She looks good up in the pilot's position, harnessed in and learning to direct Black with cues from her body and posture. A little like riding a horse - a very big, fire-breathing horse. She's a natural; Poe can see all the practice and strength from her youth. It just needs the natural continuation - a living dragon.

Poe follows the trio up the grassy slope to the old training yard, the loose ends of his harness jingling.

"What are _you_ wearing to the ceremony?" Rey asks.

"Isn't it bad luck to know that before the wedding?" Poe aks.

Rey laughs. "No, I don't think that's how that one goes."

"Well," he says, "I'll be in uniform, since us pilots are supposed to present ourselves as part of the well-behaved military upper ranks."

Rey groans. "How long is this supposed to _last_?"

"Before or after the dancing?" Poe asks.

"The dancing is alright, but the recitations and ceremonial sword-ringing and co-ordinated flight demonstrations...."

She stops, looking at Poe mischievously. "Let me take your place in the fly-over. Then you can wear something nicer." 

"And what will _you_ do?" Poe laughs. "Moreover, what will _I_ do, when the Seneschal sees me deliver you windblown and disheveled - beautiful as you may be in such a state - to the royal altar?"

She grins at him, and Poe realizes he's in trouble. "Well, they could wait while I changed."

"Rey," he says, a little more seriously. "Won't the king know if we change the ceremony?"

"Probably," she says. "But I don't think he'll mind, much. Certainly not enough to call notice to it in front of the whole kingdom."

"Maybe not then," Poe says. "But he could decide to lock me in a dungeon for the rest of my life."

Rey clucks her tongue. "Finn and I would rescue you again. Then we'd have _another_ wedding. You could wear the dress."

She and Black stop, across the field from the straw targets that Poe and Jessica had set up yesterday. She sizes them up.

"You ready for some fire?" Poe asks, getting ready to explain the basics - it wasn't a tricky process with a familiar to help, but in midair, in the heat of combat - things could get tricky. "You'll have to-"

Black's chest swells, his long tail whipping fierce and angry before the first target disappears in flames.

Poe looks sharply at Beebee.

- _I didn't help her do it_ \- Beebee defends herself. - _She just..._ -

"Sorry," Rey says, not sounding too earnest. "I reached out with my magic and showed Black what I wanted. I'm still not used to talking to Beebee."

Beebee, safely clipped to her tether on the harness, looks slowly between Black and Rey.

- _Well_ \- she allows. - _It worked._ -

Rey looks extremely proud of herself, and Poe accepts that his place as teacher now is to get out of the way. When the other five targets are equally smouldering, Rey turns her attention back onto Poe, smiling serenely.

"I'm going to have Queen Organa's tailor make something for you," She decides.

"A dress?" Poe laughs.

"No," Rey says, clearly entertaining the notion - _and_ passing the image to Beebee, if her sudden rush of amusement is any indicator. "But after we're done undermining the sanctity of the ceremony and the stability of our kingdoms as you seem to think is going to happen, you'll need something to dance in."

-

"When's _our_ fitting?" Snap asks, as Poe explains the need for a change in duty roster the next day. 

"Yeah," Jess chimes in. "I don't want to dance in that stinky old uniform, Commander. If you get new clothes, I should-"

"I didn't exactly ask for-"

"But we are," Snap adds, cheerfully interrupting him. "Who knows, maybe Jess will win herself a First Order spouse and we'll really 'cement the bond between kingdoms'."

"Do you think Captain Phasma will be there?" Iolo adds, joining in on the chance to poke a little fun at Jess' expense. 

"The Grand General doesn't seem to go anywhere without her," Snap agrees, as if speculating, while Jess turns red to her ears.

"I can't get you all in with the Queen's tailor," Poe protests.

"If it's any consolation," Wen puts in from his seat at the back of the room - he's the only pilot not currently crowding Poe. "I think our uniforms look just fine."

A collective groan of protest raises from the rest of the group.

"But," Poe continues, as if he hadn't been interrupted. "I have obtained permission for you to change the formal attire of your choice to the dance."

Jess whoops. The rest of the assembled pilots look pleased.

" _Also_ ," Poe raises his voice a little, hoping to avoid any jokes at his expense if he brings the subject up after delivering good news. "If you have any pilot candidates in mind, there's seven eggs at nest and we'll need to be ready."

Jess is still grinning uncontrollably but the rest of the pilots pause to consider.

"We'll only need six new pilots," Snap observes. "You're training the Princess, right? That's your candidate?"

"More like she's training herself," Kare says. "Poe's lucky there are eggs or he'd have to give her Black."

"Maybe he already has," Jess says. "And the seventh egg is for him."

If Rey asked, he probably would. But, Rey wouldn't, and that was part of why Poe adored her so deeply. Besides, she hardly needed _his_ dragon - Poe's fairly certain she could coax even a First Order animal to heed her commands.

"I think we should all train an apprentice," Poe cuts their continued joking short. "There will be more eggs than seven once the dragons realize there's not any fighting anymore, and sooner rather than later, I'd bet. If we don't have pilots, we'll have to set them wild. We lost a lot of good people and a lot of dragons fighting the First Order."

The joking settles down some as the news of further responsibility settles over the group. Poe studies each of their reactions, but sees mostly thoughtful expressions. 

"Besides that," Wen adds, taking advantage of the quiet. "More bodies mean less patrols and more eyes to watch for trouble."

"Exactly," Poe says, relieved that he hadn't hit a complete wall. "So round up some candidates. There's a whole kingdom out there to draw from."

"Okay," Jess says. "But can I get my dress first?"

"Yes," Poe allows, knowing it's better to let them focus on the immediate and let the rest happen naturally. The idea has begun to settle. It'll take hold.

"So who are you bringing?" Snap asks Poe, slyly. "Are you going to dance with the Queen again?"

"Are you jealous?" Iolo asks.

Poe surrenders to the inevitable gossip.

"No," Snap says, not seeming to much care if Poe gets to speak in his own defense while he's _right_ there or not. "I'm just curious. It's not like Poe to go so long without some kind of love affair."

- _If only he knew_ \- Beebee adds. Poe looks at her sharply.

"I'm not bringing anyone," he says. 

This starts a new, wild round of speculation amongst the group. When no one is looking at him, he mouths 'don't you dare' at Beebee. She looks smug.

"You better not put any moves on Captain Phasma," Iolo says, elbowing Jess.

"Poe _always_ gets the pretty ones first," Jess agrees.

"I won't," he promises. 

"Then who's your target?" she grins.

All of the pilots except Wen are looking at him intently again. 

"We're great wingmen," Kare volunteers. "We'll help it go smooth, commander."

"I've seen your ideas of 'helping' and 'smooth'," he laughs. "Don't worry about it. I can handle myself."

Jess jams her hands over her mouth to stave off her explosive laughter. Poe sighs, only realizing too late that he might have phrased that differently. 

Snap gives him a look that says Poe should have seen this coming.

"We're trying to keep you from having to _handle yourself_ for too long," Jessica manages to gasp out, around her chuckles, sure to make her inappropriate emphasis clear.

Poe waits for her to finish, which she does by slugging him amicably in the arm before she goes giggling on her way back to the mews. Poe knows two things - he hasn't heard the last of this, and any attempt to defend himself will only encourage them. He finds himself alone in the ready room with only Wen, who hasn't left his table or his cup of coffee - Poe's impromptu meeting had interrupted his morning break.

"You could have warned me it was _Luke's_ red," Poe says, sitting down across the table from him.

"You figured it out," Wen says, serenely. He makes an absent gesture with one hand over the table top. "And I did at least give you a warning."

Poe allows it. He might not have believed it without seeing it with his own eyes or hearing it directly from the King as he had.

"You don't seem as excited for the wedding," Poe observes.

"Well," Wen says, turning his blank gaze away to avoid the question. Seven is perched on a high shelf, perhaps helping him know how to orient. Wen looks up at him and sighs out.

"There are pilots who didn't make it this far with us," he says. "I guess the thought of new pilots brings that home for me."

Poe thinks back, trying to remember if his pilot had seemed closer to any of the ones that had gone down in the fight. Nothing comes to mind - Wen had always been quiet, reserved; with a tendency to linger behind.

"You made some friends in the First Order too, didn't you?" Poe recalls.

"Sure," Wen says modestly. "But these days, that's not unique."

Poe sees the reaction anyway, despite the grave tone. He's missing someone. Likely, forever.

"Take someone," Poe suggests. "Don't go alone. You'll feel better."

"I was about to tell you the same thing," Wen says, looking at Poe before he pulls his goggles down over his blind eyes in order to better hide his handicap - or maybe just his expression. 

It's unfair to have to lie to his captain when his concern is so close to the heart. It's all Poe can do to toss off his best devil-only-cares smile - not that his target can see it - and make a joke of it.

"Are you asking me out, Captain?"

Wen snorts, getting up. "No. I'm just suggesting that holding back from what makes you happy for a more appropriate time is only holding hands with regret."

Poe wants to toss off a dismissive and snappy answer - to suggest that he'll never be that serious about anything in his life. Then, the reality hits him that he's just agreed to be fairly permanently serious - _completely_ serious if he's honest with himself. 

And he can't tell anyone.

"Have a good fitting, Knight-Commander," Wen tells him. "Come on, Seven."

His familiar steps up onto the padded brace on Wen's forearm, leaving Poe alone with Beebee to consider his future.

-

Poe drifts through the next few days in a slight haze. The fitting goes past as a series of measurements and motions he is required to make to allow more measurements.

It goes by like a strange dream. He trusts that the results will be good, and lets his thoughts wander.

He now has two secrets to keep from the respective parties he's keeping them for. It pulls at him, though the tethers are long and honorable. 

- _You're flying away without leaving the ground,_ \- Beebee observes, trotting along the corridors after him.

"Just thinking about the future," Poe says.

- _Which part?_ -

"That's the question, isn't it?" Poe says, rhetorically. "The immediate is so much more immediate than I expected."

- _Second thoughts again?_ \- Beebee scolds.

"Well," Poe explains, stepping into his room and finding it is empty except for him, for now. "I went from being sure it would never happen to engaged in a short period of time. Under duress."

He pushes his door closed, thinking about taking a long bath to soak the tension out of his body. "It's not second thoughts if I've barely had first thoughts, right?"

- _Don't you want to be mates with Rey and Finn?_ -

"It's more complicated than that," Poe says. "It'll always have to be a secret, just between us three."

- _Four._ \- Beebee corrects.

Poe strips off his shirt. "Rey and Finn have had time to think about this, and wrap their thoughts around the idea."

- _And wrap themselves around you at every opportunity,_ \- Beebee observes, apparently amused by his crisis of consideration. 

Poe sits down at his desk, torn between a dozen different directions all at once. Beebee sits on his bed, watching him. Her attitude is calm, unconcerned; a direct opposition to his own feelings of uncertainty.

- _You're making excuses again,_ \- she accuses.

"Well, what can I say, I got a lot of things to excuse," Poe drawls, more to himself than as a response. She's right, of course, but Poe doesn't mind being told. He rests his elbow on the desk, and his chin on his fist.

"I just never really thought about this kind of commitment," Poe continues. "Though I guess this is hardly the traditional sort of marriage."

Beebee just looks at him, her short tail twitching in irritation at his silliness.

"Well, what do _you_ think I should do?" Poe asks her.

An unexpected and unfamiliar voice answers him instead, startling the both of them.

"Put on a shirt, kid," the man in his doorway says. "We have to go find my idiot son."  
-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 18 will be late, perhaps to the point of skipping to June 8th! I'll be on vacation (DISNEYLAND) eating terrible food and taking pictures with Kyle Ron. In the meantime I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and you can come yell at me about the cliffhanger on Tumblr: http://shawarma-palace.tumblr.com


	18. Chapter 18

Poe goes along easily, thought he method of the message's arrival is unexpected. It takes him a long moment to realize that this is _Han Solo_ \- legendary in his own right. To Poe's knowledge, he's been missing in action since the defeat of the Immortal Emperor. Neither Luke Skywalker nor Leia had seemed worried about his fate, though they surely missed him. Poe has to concede that they're right. Han looks a little older than the last time Poe had seen him, but healthy enough to retain command of the massive gray dragon he leads Poe to.

Even Beebee, fearless as she is, hesitates a step as the dragon yawns, revealing a sharp-toothed gape wide enough to encompass all three of them without any second thoughts.

"Don't worry," Han assures them. "Falcon's a big softie at heart. But stay away from the business end."

In the past, larger dragons had commonly been used for carrying goods and passengers between kingdoms; under the First Order, boats have taken their place. To his eyes, despite the claims of speed attributed to Han and Falcon, the dragon looks lumbering. Old, in fact, now that he can see something other than the sheer size of her and her teeth.

"Did you really steal freight with her?" Poe asks.

"Right out of the sky," Han boasts. "But, uh, not recently."

He gives Poe a slow, considered look that suggests 'yes, recently', though he knows that it must have been from a trade ship and not quite as daring as stealing cargo midair.

The massive harness includes a series of hand-and-footholds up to several seats between her shoulders. Poe settles into the co-pilot's seat, and notes that where the harness would accommodate a safety line for Han's familiar, he finds an unexpected shape.

"Is that a First Order familiar?" Poe asks, surprised. Clearly, it is a uniform shape with the familiars he has been exposed to from that nation; a massive war dog with short, sharply pointed ears and a docked tail. The expression is dissimilar, however; canine mouth open and relaxed, tongue lolling happily, eyes bright. It looks happy. 

Beebee investigates too.

"He's not mine," Han explains, seeing their expressions as they settle into their places. "Just useful, for a while."

Poe isn't sure if he should ask about what happened to Han's actual familiar. He doesn't have time to decide before Falcon lumbers forward, building speed in a jerky, laborious overland trot that jostles them all uncomfortably in her efforts to get off the ground. Beebee is almost thrown free, her small claws scrabbling against the leather harness for a hold until Poe catches her and holds her carefully to his chest.

- _It's hardly smooth!_ \- she protests, as Falcon lumbers forward, beating her wings in what seems like a fruitless effort. For all the claims of speed Poe has heard, he realizes he'd never thought to ask if anyone meant in the _air_.

Then, finally, _exultantly_ , he feels the dragon gain a little lift. One wing-beat, two, and then she's in the air. It's an effort for the ages to get off the ground, to lift up until she's at altitude, but when she's there she glides at a blazing and effortless speed that seems to make all of that labor worthwhile.

Han reaches out to thump Falcon on the well-muscled wing-joint in a show of affection. "There, that's all there is to it."

- _That's quite enough_ ,- Beebee adds, with an acid primness that says she doesn't approve.

"What do you think, kid/" Han asks, clearly thrilled by the experience. He's looking at Poe with an easily recognizable pilot's pride, and Poe's heart softens some.

He unclamps his jaw enough to smile, and loosens his protective hold on Beebee just a little.

"Impressive," Poe says, when he's sure that no further sudden jostles are going to rattle his teeth out. "The stories don't do her any justice."

"What story _could_?" Han asks, proudly.

- _A story that mentioned take off time as a part of speed._ \- Beebee observes. - _Black can get off the ground in seconds._ -

Poe runs his fingers gently under her belly, warning her to be civil even if Han can't hear her.

"Beebee's jealous," Poe adds, feeling her instant irritation.

- _Not so jealous. What's he done with his familiar?_ -

Poe is curious, too. There is a lot that doesn't seem to make any sense about Han solo. First in Poe's mind is his absence; who could leave Leia behind to be missing him so often? She _clearly_ did,a nd where was Han after she'd lost Ben?

It is a picture in small pieces, perhaps too complicated to assemble without either a guide or more of the pieces. Poe tries to remember if there was anything from his childhood - if Ben had ever said anything, if he'd heard anything while in Leia's care in the republic. 

The past is a shadowy space in his mind, seeming somehow to be sticky. Drawing him in, and down.

-

"What are we going to do about him?"

The memory comes up quickly, as if it's been waiting to ambush Poe the instant he looked. Everything about it is sharp and sudden, like a sword's point. Yet, like a blade, it is intriguing.

"What do you mean, 'do about him'?" A second voice answers. "He's our son."

The voices are familiar, but imperfect. There is a span of time that changes them from clear to only an echoing notion of something he'd once heard. They are one male and one female. Han and Leia?

When had he heard this?

"We've raised him, but I'm not sure he is," the man's voice says. The tone is hushed, trying not to be overheard.

"If we raised him, he _definitely_ is," the woman asserts. "Besides, he's harmless. Maybe a little more charming than the average seven year old but that's hardly-"

- _Poe?_ \- Beebee's voice intrudes on his thoughts. The memory disintegrates like old cobwebs, vanishing quickly.

He finds himself still seated on Falcon, glancing over at Han, then down at Beebee. Her pointed nose is inches from his face, black eyes looking at him in concern.

"I'm okay," he tells her, quietly. 

She tilts her head, clearly skeptical. - _What were you thinking about?_ -

Poe's surprised. "You couldn't tell?"

- _It was one of your strange memories,_ \- Beebee says. - _They never make any sense to me._ -

"What do you mean by that?" Poe asks, concerned. He glances at Han self-consciously, but he's either not listening or pretending not to well enough that Poe continues the conversation. 

- _I mean there are some things you walled up so tightly that they only come through in fits and starts,_ \- Beebee explains. - _You won't let yourself see it, how am I supposed to?_ -

"They're just old, painful memories," Poe says. "Of my parents, mostly."

Now, Han glances his way, a strange expression on his face.

Poe flushes. Of course Han would be sensitive to a subject like that.

"We'll talk later, alright?" Poe tells Beebee.

She nods, stuffing herself into Poe's coat for warmth. She won't forget, but she's willing to let it sit until they have the privacy to really talk about it. He lets a few moments pass in silence before trying to sweep the awkward conversation with his familiar under the rug.

"So, where are we going?" he asks Han.

Han seems to consider the question, deciding how sarcastically to answer. 

"He was last seen on the northern edge of First Order territory," Han says. "They don't want you to know this, but he stole something from the First Order that they're upset about."

"We _haven't_ heard anything about that," Poe muses, surprised that the First Order hadn't brought a complaint to General Organa. 

"Well, trust me," Han assures him. "I went to steal it and it was already gone."

Now Poe's _really_ curious. "What could the First Order have that both you and Ben want?"

"Between you and me? I'm not exactly sure. Some new kind of - something. Involving dragons, I think," Han confides. "I figured it'd be hard to miss when I got there."

"They're keeping weapons away from the alliance?" Poe asks, worried. 

Han answers him with a bitter chuckle. "That's the First Order, kid. They'd keep it from their own grandma, if they thought it would give 'em an ace up their sleeves."

"Are they planning on turning against us?" Poe asks. He trusts Finn - loves him, even. But, he could be another pawn in this, no matter how much Poe doesn't want to believe it.

"I dunno," Han admits. "Not while the wind is blowing in our direction. Peace suits them better for the moment, they lost a lot of people in that last war. If they have an upper hand and feel secure, then probably we have nothing to worry about. They just like to wave around big sticks."

Han looks out across the sky. "But if it looks like we're going to lose against a greater opponent, they'll change sides again. Especially if they feel insecure in their own power. That's how the First Order works - survive and fight a _winning_ battle."

It sounds bleak. Poe shakes his head.

"It's changing. Finn and Rey will be married soon-"

Han interrupts in a surprised tone, protesting Poe's familiarity. " _Finn_ and _Rey_?"

Poe forges on, trying to smooth over his own faux pass. "They won't let the First Order forget it's promises, and _we_ aren't going to let things with the Fae King come to a head, right? That's what we're out here for?"

Han looks at Poe with an expression that's the picture of disbelief. "Leia said you were loyal, but she didn't mention the stars in your eyes came with rocks in your head."

Poe doesn't protest either Leia's praise or Han's insult. He waits.

When Han seems to have nothing further to say, Poe asks, "where have you been all these years, anyway?"

"Where haven't I been?" Han answers, brusquely. "All over the three kingdoms and beyond. I figure a pilot like you would understand wanderlust."

"Leia has missed you," Poe says.

"Are you on a first name basis with the entire royal family?" Han demands, his expression transforming to anger. "What would you know about it?" 

Then, he continues on the defensive. "I had a lot of things to do!"

Poe watches him, expectantly. Finally, Han finishes with a quieter emotion. "She didn't want me around."

When the quiet returns, Poe ventures, "been saving that up a while?"

Han gives him a resentful look. "I can't go back unless I bring our son. It's been too long now."

Poe thinks he understands. It's the only apology that seems to be of appropriate magnitude. Apology or none, General Organa would forgive Han anyway, but Poe thinks he has to make the effort.

"Why'd you go in the first place?" Poe asks. "We could have used you in the Resistance."

"Well," Han says. "That's something for Leia and I to discuss. Or don't you believe in private matters in your alliance?"

"I suppose it is," Poe says. He can't help adding, "but she misses dancing with you."

Han gives him an acid look, and Poe shuts up. There is long, thoughtful silence. Poe risks a long lean over Falcon's wing, looking down into the First Order territory below. It's nearly dark and they're at a much higher altitude than where he and Black usually fly. He hopes, even with the added warmth of Beebee curled against his chest beneath the flight leathers, that Han doesn't mean for them to fly through the coldest part of the night. 

It's Han who breaks the silence again later, as the vivid stars begin to appear overhead.

"We all felt responsible for the betrayal," Han reveals. "A lot of kids died, a lot of other good people, because we failed to see it coming. Everyone had to handle it in their own way. Luke disappeared, Leia began to organize a Resistance when it became clear that Palpatine could not be directly defeated."

Han leans forward, giving Falcon a solid pat that she may not even feel, and they begin to descend at last into warmer air.

"I was only ever good at one thing, and there wasn't a lot of room for me anywhere else, so..." Han's voice peters out, and he doesn't look up at Poe to see the effect of his words, doesn't seem to expect a response.

To Poe, it sounds like an excuse, but he can't say for certainty what he'd have done in Han's place.

Beebee's nose pokes out of the neck of his jacket. - _You've been making a lot of excuses, too._ -

The observation is astute. In his heart of hearts, Po ehad been a little glad when Han showed up to take some of the burden of choice away. To give him an excuse to slip out on the ceremony and not take the guilt or blame for it.

This worries him, some. Was he going to make excuses and escape his problems every time? It's not that he doesn't love Rey and Finn, not that he doesn't _appreciate_ what he has - what he's been given by their inclusion.

How was he going to trust himself not to be impulsive? Poe has never really committed before - always been more of the sort to enjoy a casual fling. Leia knew it - even his _pilots_ knew; many by experience.

- _Stop,_ \- Beebee tells him. - _This is going to be hard enough without that, now._ -

As they slowly descend into the dark territory below them, landing inside the First Order borders under the cover of night, Poe knows she's right - but the problem will be waiting for him, after this excuse has passed.

-

Poe has nothing to sleep in but his flight leathers, though Han is gracious enough to provide him with a tent and a blanket. Poe does his best to pad himself from the rock-hard ground, thinking of his days in the Resistance fondly. With less fondness, he realizes he was ten years younger the last time sleeping on bare ground had been comfortable. To distract himself, he looks up at the myriad and brilliant stars through the open flap of his tent. They cut down through the cold air in this far corner of the First Order's territory.

Beebee, curled against his side, is strangely silent. The air, which had seemed warm as they descended, now grows frigid around them.

He pulls the blanket closer and feels briefly as if he might touch the old magic of the world, and then realizes Beebee is only quiet because she has fallen asleep against the warm hollow of his side. She snores, faintly.

He follows her quickly, pulling the tent closed to keep as much warmth inside it as possible. The dreams that chase him are strange, dark things - two voices whispering secrets about him; secrets they know but he doesn't. He dreams of his mother's hands covering his eyes, of Ben Solo looking at him - _into_ him and seeing some depth he hadn't known existed.

Then, he dreams of being underground again. The earth is crushing down on him, burying him alive; closing tighter and tighter around him until he wakes, clawing at his blankets and thrashing his way out of his tent into the slowly yellowing sky.

Han Solo watches him impassively, tending a small fire with no smoke. He makes no response to Poe's clear troubles, instead only passing him a steaming cup of Caf and promising;

"It's gonna be a long day, kid."

-

He lets Han Solo lead. Poe hadn't been made privy to any part of the plan, if there even was one, but he's alright with flying blind. 

"If it was a dragon," Poe speculates, in an undertone, as they creep up on an outpost on their bellies in the tall grass. "How did Kylo Ren steal it, without a familiar?"

"The way we do things is not the only way _to_ do things," Han says. "Maybe he stole a familiar. Maybe he used Force magic. Honestly, I don't care how he did it, I'm just hoping we can figure out what he took so we know what _we're_ looking for."

His tone is short. Tense. Poe expects they're about to do something very dangerous.

Then again, they're in the heart of First Order territory now, unarmed except for Poe's sword and whatever weapons Han has. That, in itself, is dangerous without an invitation. Given that Poe is looking at what appears to be a sort of training barracks, and that the place itself seems to be running on nervous tension and desperation, Poe's sure that they're not supposed to be here.

He closes his mouth and opens his eyes. He can see the sort of tools used to train pilots and dragons. Targets on the ground, and launchers for airborne maneuvers. The secrecy of the place is also clear - well away from any shared borders. 

But what was so secret about training pilots? Poe can't begin to imagine. It must be the animal - something new or unusual about it. Something the First Order didn't want their allies to see.

Could it be that it doesn't require a familiar to ride? That would explain how Kylo Ren had stolen it.

"Hey, kid," Han says, over his shoulder. It catches Poe's attention. The inaccuracy is beginning to get on Poe's nerves.

"My name's Poe," he reminds. Han gives him a sour look.

"Alright, _Poe_ then," Han says, giving Poe the feeling it won't last. "Can you get up here? I need you to send your familiar down there for a better look."

- _No way,_ \- Beebee protests, as Poe edges up to the rise, pressing himself as flat as possible while still keeping a good view of the outpost below.

Han seems to read her mood. "You're smaller than we are, Buttercup. They won't notice you."

Beebee looks deliberately at Han and plops her backside down in the dirt in stubborn refusal.

"Come on," Han says, looking at Poe for help. "Will you talk to her, please?"

- _He almost stepped on me twice this morning_ \- Beebee says, closing her eyes and lifting her nose in the air disapprovingly. - _And my name's not Buttercup._ -

Poe reaches out to carefully stroke his fingers under her chin. "What if he's not the one asking?"

She cracks one eye open a haughty sliver, considering Poe. - _And what, exactly, am I supposed to be looking for?_ -

Poe glances at Han.

- _If you're asking, you should know,_ -Beebee says, contrite.

"Papers," Han supplies.

"Any written copies of orders that have to do with what they're doing here," Poe puts in, nudging Han for silence. "if you hear anyone talking about what's missing, try to remember what they say."

Beebee considers.

"You're the best one for the job," Poe says, laying it on extra thick.

- _I'm the best one for_ every _job,_ \- she agrees, then hesitates. She reaches out to put her paw on Poe's chest, taking advantage of his position on the ground to look him in the eyes. - _You be careful while I'm gone._ -

Poe realizes this will be fthe first time they've been apart since he'd been kidnapped.

"I'll be right here when you get back," he promises. "Don't worry." 

She pauses to give Han the hairy eyeball, and then leaps down from the embankment and into the tall grass below them. Poe does not even see it rustle as she passes.

"You let her talk to you like that?" Han asks him.

"You can hardly say anything," Poe says. "Where's your familiar?"

"You don't know?" Han asks.

Poe shakes his head. It's probably a long story, but they seem to have some time on their hands.

"I left Chewbacca with Rey," Han says, surprising Poe. "A long time ago. I figured, if she was going to be on her own in that junkyard, she wasn't going to be unprotected."

" _Chewbacca_ is your familiar?" Poe asks. "I thought he was just a dog."

"Well, when a famliar's apart from his bond-mate for a long enough time, what's the real difference between them and the animal they look like?" Han asks, rhetorically. "Besides, he was never really the same after he thought Ben betrayed us. Chewie practically helped raise the kid."

_No wonder he hid from Kylo Ren,_ Poe thinks, with some pity.

"Still," Poe says, bringing them back around to the first topic. "You must have humored your bond-mate, from time to time."

"Mine wasn't a weasel," Han says, jerking his thumb at his own chest.

"She's an ermine," Poe says, with patience. "and you're not half the grouch you pretend to be."

"I don't like you," Han says, but Poe thinks he means just the opposite.

He wonders how two people like Han Solo and his General ever got together. Someday, when he feels very brave, he'll ask Leia.

Poe watches the grass, and the movements of the camp below, feeling the sun warm on his back as they wait for Beebee's return. Below, the heavily armored First Order soldiers move back and forth in regular intervals. Focused on the track in front of them that they'll walk, just in the footsteps of the previous patrol.

In the past, Poe thought of this as a clear advantage for the Resistance; the rigid predictability made them easy targets. It was the idea of expendability that made each individual weaker, but strengthened the overwhelming force of the machine. 

His opinion has changed, of course, since learning that underneath their helmets, each Stormtrooper is an individual. No matter how uniform they seemed, they had thoughts, lives, differences.

Just like Finn.

_Well_ , Poe thinks, smiling to himself. _They aren't_ all _just like Finn._

- _I wasn't gone long enough for naughty daydreams,_ \- Beebee scolds. The grass nearby stirs perceptibly as she reappears, dragging a roll of documents. 

She presents them directly to Han with prim satisfaction.

"Thank you," Han says, in a flat tone. He takes the roll and begins reviewing the information.

"How'd it go?" Poe asks her.

- _I got it, didn't I?_ \- Beebee says.

"You got something," Poe agrees, unable to read Han's expression and unwilling to lean up high enough to read along with him. "Did anyone see you?"

- _No,_ \- she assures him. - _And if they had, I could have played dumb._ -

Poe smiles, reaching out to rub between her ears gently in thanks. "Who has to _play_?"

Beebee leans away from his fingers, giving him a look of clear, injured displeasure.

"You left yourself wide open," Poe tells her.

"C'mon kid," Han says. "I think I know where he's gone."

"Did he steal a dragon?" Poe asks, following Han in a crouch back toward where Falcon is hidden.

"Yeah, and worse," Han says, his tone a flat gravel of displeasure. "He stole a weapon he can use against Snoke."

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this is late! I could only get it transcribed now; and it's a big chapter, too, at least? I hope that makes the extra wait somewhat worth it. :)


	19. Chapter 19

Poe can’t make heads or tails of the blueprints or correspondence. It does say ‘weapon’, in an official and heavy handed print, but as to what exactly its method of damage is and why it’s necessary when they’re in a period of truce is uncertain. Certainly, the device is large - it must be mounted on a dragon - but while Poe is used to arrows and swords and seige engines, this seems to have no projectile or blade.

When the rattling of the pages in the wind drives him crazy enough, Poe shoves them into a stow bag on the harness. Leia will want to know - she’ll want to discuss it at some length with the Grand General. It’s unlikely to be friendly discussion.

Han is flying them due north now, urging all of the speed that Poe knows Falcon is capable of, until the stinging half-frozen air seems to take bites from his skin wherever it’s exposed. He jams his hands under his arms against his flight jacket, and toughs it out.

- _Where are we even going?_ Beebee demands miserably, huddled inside his coat. - _There can’t possibly be anything up here._ -

It makes an ideal place to hide, then. Even if you were flying a massive dragon like Falcon through a clear sky, or if you were carrying a weapon.

“Han, what are we looking for?” Poe asks, interrupting his silence.

“You don’t see it?” Han says.

Below them is the ocean, gathering itself in places into icebergs. Ahead, on the horizon he can see over Falcon’s shoulder is a vast plane of ice, rising in a sheer cliff out of the water and up toward the steel-gray sky. Against the water, the ice contrasts. The upper reaches are hard to discern from the sky.

Pilots don’t fly here - the cold air freezes dragon wings. At least, those of the small, sleek fighting dragons. Falcon’s big wingspan seems resistant to the freezing wind.

“I don’t see anything but ice,” Poe shouts, raising his voice over the gusting wind.

“Watch the ice, then,” Han says, cryptically. He points a gloved finger at the confusing line between horizon and sky.

So, Poe looks. Beebee pokes her nose out of his collar to peer north, also. There is something strange that pulls his attention, something Fae that presses in at the back of his mind. As he looks, the details begin to slowly, painstakingly resolve. Yet, something else happens, too. The passing of time becomes pronounced in Poe’s awareness.

When the first ghost-gray crystalline spire resolves itself against the pale sky, Poe is aware of exactly how long he’s been away from Rey and Finn. How quickly the time before the ceremony is passing.

Towers begin to resolve themselves, a whole disconnected array that juts and climbs. At times, they seem to float on air until a middle solidifies out of the plain of uncertainty between land and sky.

He wants to be back home. He’s already been away too long, and every ticking second is one he can’t get back. He could be with the people he loved…

- _Poe_ \- Beebee says, and it seems to come into his mind from a strange distance. - _I know this place._ -

As she says it, he thinks he knows it as well; some foggy memory. A colorless feeling of familiarity that slowly resolves itself out of his memory like the spires of the castle before him, reaching down to anchor itself amongst his memories like the towers reach down toward the ground.

- _You dream of this place…_ \- Beebee says, as if just realizing.

“I don’t remember that,” Poe murmurs, unsure if she hears. This close, the wind howls between the spires, not quite a piercing shriek. It wavers almost maddeningly, up and down from a bass growl to a high wail, like wolves howling in chorus.

- _I do,_ \- Beebee says, - _but only just now. You used to dream about it all the time, when you were young. It used to wake you up._ -

“This sound would wake anyone up,” Poe says, feeling his thoughts scatter. He presses his hands against his ears, but it seems to shake the very air around them.

“The sound’s the second ward, kid,” Han shouts. “Just a little further!”

The second ward of three, if Poe knows anything about Fae. They had a tendency toward trinities and facets and ethereal complications. Here was the city that such things and power built. The castle lost in the sky, with wards that called you away home again. Something about it calls Poe in, too. A memory, a dream.

Over the pounding wind, Poe calls, “What’s the third ward?”

They’re close now - close enough tos ee the twisted spires and reaching towers easily. The wind batters at them, turning Falcon by degrees as she veers and banks to keep flying onward. The towers are carved by the cutting air; intricate and deeply cut shapes.

“There’s no doors,” Han says, his determined tone carrying in a moment of quiet.

Suddenly Falcon flattens herself down, angling her wings and gathering speed.

“Brace yourself, kid,” Han warns, as Falcon unfolds her claws and plunges toward the side of the nearest tower, spewing flame at the solid wall they are about to impact. 

Poe holds on against the tearing wind, feeling Beebee press closer against his chest and only closes his eyes when the wall of ice fills his vision.

-

Inside, the place is nearly as dim as the underground cell they’d kept Poe in - light filters through the ice, a gray and nondescript glow that means Poe can tell he’s in a hallway, but little else. 

Suddenly, he remembers Beebee, picking himself up quickly off the floor and feeling beneath his jacket. She isn’t there. Neither is Han or Falcon - Poe must have been thrown free when they’d collided with the wall. He does not remember the impact - and none of his other companions are in view. 

The floor is cold, and the wall where they’d come through seems solid, though there is a patch of fresh, clear ice where the wall has healed itself. 

“Beebee?” he calls. His voice echoes in the strange, dead air inside. The spire’s interior allows only a thin corridor, twisting around a solid core like a snake winding around prey. The walls and floor are all perfectly smooth, dull white ice of a uniform color. 

- _I’m here,_ \- Beebee answers, from somewhere unseen. - _Just ahead._ -

Looking back, Poe sees that he cannot go down, not unless he wants to risk trying to break through the side of the spire. The hallway simply ends fifty feet behind him, perhaps another ward to block his passage. 

“Where?” he asks, picking himself the rest of the way up off the slanted floor and looking at the hall ahead of him. It curves quickly out of view, winding around the center on an upward slope.

- _Right here_ \- Beebee says, peeking back at him from around the corner. She has a wary look in her eyes. - _Wherever_ here _is._ -

For all the ornate, wind carved edifices outside, the inside is plain and smooth. Simple, to the extent of lacking color and any option but upward or stop. 

“Did you see Han?” Poe asks.

- _I think he’s below us,_ \- she says. - _But we can’t go that way._ -

“Well that’s helpful,” Poe says. “How do we know this tower is the right one?”

- _They’re all connected._ \- Beebee says., providing a sudden, unexpected echo to Poe’s thoughts. 

“Down below the ice,” he murmurs, knowing it to be true. Beebee looks up at him, her eyes dark and concerned.

“Why do I know this place?” Poe asks, looking up into the muffling gray gloom. “Why do I dream about it?”

- _It’s behind the wall_ , Beebee says.

For a moment, the statement makes no sense to Poe, then Beebee reaches gently into his thoughts; to the parts of his childhood he has closed away from himself. The painful memories that had been set aside as he moved rapidly from the shock of loss into resistance.

“I’m sure my parents never brought me here,” Poe says, starting up the slanted floor, following the winding hall as if he could leave behind the unsettling feeling of deja-voux by outdistancing it.

Beebee follows after, wordless but clearly concerned. She peers ahead cautiously, proceeding one delicate step at a time as if the floor of the place might strike out at her or fall away suddenly. Her wary eyes try to watch everywhere at once.

Poe follows his memories up the difficult, slippery spiral, one hand on the wall to catch himself if his footing fails. Instead of looking around, he peers upward at the dim gray always just out of reach around the corner. He can feel Beebee’s unease, but none of his own.

It’s like peering into the depths of his own mind.

_”What are we going to do about him?”_

It’s a man’s voice, Poe thinks. A _familiar_ voice. But this time, he’s sure it’s not Han Solo. It’s Kes Dameron, his father. Poe remembers pressing his ear to a cup; pressing the cup to a door.

He’d learned the trick from Ben, he thinks. It tries to pull him away down the rabbit hole of a different memory. A _safer_ memory. 

- _want to see what dad showed me?_

_Ben, usually solemn and somber, now bright eyed and pleased. Eager to show off a smuggler’s trick, eager to demonstrate the greatness inspired by only the short touch of his father’s attention-_

Poe shakes this off. The spiral is getting steeper and tighter. At any moment, he might round the central axis to find it pinched off to an end. It doesn’t, somehow. The light just grows hazier, fuzzy around him, filtering down only through the ice.

He pulls the thread of memory again.

_”What do you mean, ‘do about him’?”_ his mother’s voice asks. _”He’s our son.”_

_”We raised him, but I’m not sure he is,”_ his father says, his voice low. It is nothing like his usual boisterous, authoritative tone. It’s a voice for secrets.

_”If we raised him, he definitely is,”_ his mother asserts. _”Besides, he’s harmless. Maybe a little more charming, but that’s hardly any reason to be afraid.”_

There is a long silence in his memory. He thinks again, the same thoughts he had before. Why were they talking like this? Were they talking about Poe? What does that mean?

_”I’m not afraid of him,”_ Kes’ voice, lower and tired. Far more than Poe had ever heard him. Not in all the times he’d come home from contest or training. It’s a bone-deep resignation to the future.

“I’m afraid _for_ him.”

The words are the last Poe remembers, though the childhood confusion he’d felt returns, now. He’s no fool, and he knows what the conversation means.

The passage gets narrower still, forcing Poe to turn sideways and press himself through with ice at his back and against his chest. It’s dizzyingly tight. Poe pulls in his breath and holds it.

- _It opens up ahead,_ \- Beebee promises. - _There’s someone…_ -

But she doesn’t finish her sentence, trailing off in his thoughts.

His parents had spoken about him in a way that he’d mistaken - before the memory was solid - for Leia and Han discussing Ben. Because Poe knows, now, why such a thing would be said about a child.

A changeling child.

- _I sense another dragon ahead,_ \- Beebee says, whispering it into his mind as if she might be heard.

Poe has no idea _how_ , as he squeezes his skull and ribs through a fissure that crushes him breathless. Then in a moment of terror, he sticks, unable to inhale fresh air, unable to get enough traction on the ice to push himself through with his feet.

- _Poe!_ -Beebee warns.

He can’t get enough breath to tell her he’s a little busy. Instead, he reaches forward, stretching his arm to try and find something to grab, to find some way of pulling himself through as the butterflies and spots dance in front of the ice-wall that fills his vision.

His hand finds opens pace - it _does_ open out again, so near that it’s a torment and yet Poe just _can’t_ move forward, can’t ease back.

The edge of his vision seems to glow red, and there’s an airless humming filling his ears.

He has time to think, wryly, that they’ll find his body in a future age wedged and frozen like a warning. A cautionary tale for the men who dared to come here after.

Then a hand seizes his own, a big gloved hand that wraps around Poe’s wrist and _pulls_ , yanking so hard that for a moment he thinks his arm will come free of the socket before he comes loose from the ice. A long, agonizing scrape; tearing his flight jacket and his cheek, squeezing him like a grape - then he’s free.

Loose in the empty air and gasping, dropping to doubled over and sucking in frigid, fresh, beautiful air. He pulls it deep into his lungs, mindlessly, over and over. _Free._

“You always did go into tight spaces headfirst,” a voice tells him. Deep and slow and serious. “Even you underestimate the space you occupy.”

The voice is measured. Carefully controlled. Poe looks up, and in the hazy light he sees the specter of the Vader, standing back in shadow; but the voice is wrong. No metallic muzzle to drown out the humanity.

“Ben,” Poe says, looking down at the bare and burning steel in his hand. Then, “thank you.”

-


	20. Chapter 20

Ben Solo looks at Poe for a very long time, measuring him against some internal standard that he doesn't voice. It's a slow process, as Poe catches his breath again. Perhaps, after a captivity of years, everything but his patience has burned away. 

"I hear you stole a weapon," Poe says, when he won't have to gasp it out. He looks around the room at the summit of the spire, half revealed in the light. Only the side the sun shines directly on is illuminated; the other half - everything behind Ben's black-clad figure - is in darkness.

"I have," Ben says, his eyes shining out from the shadow.

"Is it better than that one?" Poe indicates the flaming red sword.

"By far," the answer is curt, exactly as long as it needs to be. 

"And who will you strike with it?" Poe asks.

Ben's eyes wash over him again, slowly. He seems larger than Poe knows him to be, commanding all of Poe's attention. Poe remembers the pain of Ben's touch in his thoughts, the unending agony of being combed over and held under the lens. He shudders.

"Which allegiance do you ask on behalf of?" Ben says, with a hint of cruelty.

"I only have one," Poe says.

"So you think," Ben answers. He still hasn't moved. "Yet, here you are. Do you know why?"

"Your father and I came to bring you back," Poe says, wishing that Ben would stop, that they could put the lid back onto the memories waking in Poe now. The ones that even Kylo Ren had not touched.

They could walk away, both as the men they'd entered the room as.

In the shadows behind Ben, a huge form stirs. It must fill half the room.  
"Ben Solo is dead," the ghost tells Poe. "If he ever lived."

"You remember what I remember," Poe says, hopeful. "Ben Solo lived; he laughed. Sometimes, he hid with me beneath the roses."

" _Do_ you remember those things?" Ben asks, in a strange voice.

"Yes," Poe says.

"I wonder," Ben says. he steps forward. "Poe Dameron is also dead. What you remember could all be fake."

"I don't think so," Poe says.

"Have you come to protect your father?"

Even if Poe has been thinking himself around to this point, he isn't ready to hear it aloud. He can feel his lips peeling back from his teeth in a displeased snarl.

Ben draws himself up straighter, with a victorious smirk. "Come, then, to protect the memories of the man you called father?"

He steps forward, the sound of one boot sole on the ice.

"How our fathers have disappointed us," Ben says, in a quiet and poisonous tone. 

"I'm not-" Poe protests.

"But you are," Ben says. "Replaced in the cradle. The first. It was only when you proved useless..."

He steps forward again, his figure cutting the light as he carries the darkness with him, tame to his hand like the flame on his blade.

"Helpless," Ben continues, " _powerless._ "

Poe reaches for his sword, as if he could cut the words from the air.

"It was only then, when they discovered you were no true Fae that they took _me_ ," Ben finishes. He raises his empty hand and freezes Poe still, locking him in his place before he can fully draw his blade.

"It's such a burden when we disappoint our fathers," he says, in a softer voice.

The magic thrums through Poe, sticking him fast - it's not quite painful. Every muscle seems to be stretched to the fullest, held by the pressure and force of will.

"Mine, who was never there," Ben continues. "Yours, who could not make you what he wanted."

Poe wants to deny it - wants it all to be some trick of the force, a lie that has weight only in trickery.

"I'm not-" he manages.

"My patience is short,"Ben says. "I'm here for Snoke. If you aren't defending your father-" 

His words end suddenly, with a short cry, a sudden motion. Poe finds himself able to move again, cut free when Ben's attention to the spell falters.Beebee leaps back away from her target, a small picture of fury with all her fur standing up and her teeth bared. Poe realizes she's bitten this terrifying black knight; that her teeth have poked holes in his power.

Ben shakes his hand to ease the sting, meeting Beebee's glare with one of his own.

"I came with Han Solo," Poe says. "No matter what you say I am, we're here to bring you home."

In the shadows behind Ben, there's another motion. Something huge is stirring. It must take up all of that half of the chamber, and now it is restless.

"Which home?" Ben asks.

"Back to Leia," Poe tells him, hoping to break through again. "I know you've taken a weapon to use against Snoke, but what will you do after that?"

Ben turns away from him, stepping into the shadows. The burning blade lights a small space around his hand, a red halo.

"There may not be an after that," Ben's voice reaches back from the shadow. Just beyond the radius of light, a massive black beast unfolds itself around the whole length of the wall, revealing teeth and wings; claws and tail.

Beebee backs away. Blue is safe, Red is safe. Black is wild.

-

"Are you afraid?" Ben's voice drifts out from the shadow. Poe realizes that the blade has extinguished at some point when he wasn't looking at it. Now his figure is lost in the darkness ahead. Only his voice drifts free.

"You needn't be," he continues. "Unless your fear is the truth. That you're a Fae."

"You said that before," Poe says, following the sound of his voice. "but why would they - I was common born. My parents were knights. What good would that have done the Fae?"

Ben's voice seems further away. Receding. Poe steps forward cautiously into the shadows. Chasing after.

- _Poe,_ \- Beebee warns, following him tentatively. - _I don't know if that dragon will listen to me. Be careful._ -

He steps cautiously, feeling his way forward - and as he gets closer to the creature, a strange sensation closes around him, like the way pins and needles wake beneath his skin if he's laid too long on his own arm. It is a buzzing, a current that passes through him almost hard enough to freeze him to the spot - but otherwise leaving him unharmed. 

"Ben?" Poe calls again, waiting for the answer to his question - discovering that he very much does not want to be alone in this dark.

- _I'm here,_ \- Beebee reminds.

Poe continues on, feeling his way. Sliding his foot over the floor, hoping not to encounter anything black and bigger than he is.

"I could show you," Ben's voice tugs him onward; a drive. A compulsion. A promise. He could reach down into Poe, as he had before, and drag the truth in his memories into the light.

"Or you could not do that," Poe says, "and just tell me instead."

The voice comes back amused, just a touch under the depth of Ben's tone. "You doubt my words. You'd have a harder time doubting your own memories."

Poe's hand encounters a solid wall, and he hears the slithering of scales over ice behind him. He's passed the dragon, or its moved around behind him, avoiding where he intends to step. He's grateful - his eyes cannot seem to adjust to this blackness. 

"Tell me instead of accusing me," Poe says, one hand on his sword and the other on the wall beside him. He can hear Ben's voice ahead, leading him onward.

Yet here is the wall - and somehow Ben's gone onward. There must be a door - he passes his fingers over the cold surface, moving along it until he finds empty air. A passage; opposit the one from which Poe emerged. 

"The way I understand it," Ben says, voice just ahead, leading Poe onward and down, deep into the heart of the spiral again. "It was expected taht when you manifested an ability with Force Magic, you would have found a place in Luke Skywalker's class. Like I did."

- _Poe,_ \- Beebee warns again. - _That dragon is coming in behind us._ -

He stops, suddenly, turning back - it wasn't as big as Falcon, certainly bigger than Black. If it fits, surely it will fill in the passageway behind him, leaving him surrounded. No way back and forward at the beckon of Ben's voice.

"But I'm not," Poe says. "how can I be what you say if I can't use Force Magic?"

"Every race has its embarrassments," Ben says. "Some Fae, even Royal Fae, are born without magic. More, now that there are so few and so much of their power has been lost."

It's a shock - but somehow not a sting. Too fresh; Poe's numb to it, yet. He wants to ask Beebee, but he'd have to do so aloud.

"What's happened to the real-" Poe starts, but then stops himself. He can't think that way. "...the other child?"

"He never lived," Ben says. "Lucky. Or unlucky. No one else wears your name or face."

There's a longer story - something he could have asked his parents about if they were still alive - if the Vader hadn't killed his father in the halls of the old Knight's quarters. If his mother had survived the attack she'd led to retake the castle.

Poe's feet slide now on the ice-slick incline, the way they'd slid on the floor back then. Now, the darkness is not the way it was. It's absolute. 

"And you?" Poe asks.

"Snoke took me at seven, just before he sacrificed his older son - your brother -t o seize back power."

It comes together then, some.

"You're still Han and Leia's son," Poe says. "They'll welcome you back."

No answer comes for a very long time. They go deeper toward the ice, with Poe aware of the dragon at his back, the strange buzzing sensation it causes beneath his skin. It gets colder.

"I was never welcome," Ben says. "And I gained power, in my time in Fae court. A boy with my face killed a dozen other children and let darkness overrun the kingdom."

The dry statement of it, the resignation of Ben's voice, reaches in to compel Poe in spite of everything. It breaks his heart a little, imposter to imposter.

"Leia doesn't feel like that," Poe says. "It won't be like that."

The deeper they go - and time seems to bend and stretch around them strangely, though perhaps that's just the darkness - the colder it grows. Poe pauses, risking getting overrun in the darkness to kneel down and pick up Beebee. They'll both be warmer if he carries her, even if it means an encumbrance in a fight. 

- _Not that you could fight much without being able to see,_ \- Beebee says. - _Don't the Fae believe in light?_ -

It makes Poe smile, the way her thought echo his from his first visit to Fae territory.

"They also like to be underground," Poe mutters to her, sensing displeasure in response.

- _I'd rather be in the air again._ -

Behind him, the dragon shuffles one, scales against ice like the sound of a rasp on stone. Steady, shaping. Building an echo in the hallway that consumes the silence that comes from Ben.

-

"What do the Fae have against living above ground?" Poe asks, watching the foxfire grow near and then vanish and then appear again behind the dragon as if they were afraid of it. Leaving it always cloaked in darkness.

"Why do men build fake caves out of stones cut from the earth?" Ben answers Poe's question with one of his own. "Castles and caves serve the same purpose."

"Except in a castle you can see where you're going," Poe says.

"Strange that you don't like the night," Ben says. "After long enough with the Fae, I find it comforting."

"I like night with a book and candles," Poe protests, reaching for the more polite uses of darkness first. "I like to fly under the stars. No man likes pure blackness."

"Hm," Ben says, just a small noise that gets Poe to examine the statement. If the contemplations of the last few hours are true, then Poe's not a man. He wonders why it should matter so much to Ben that he fully understands all of this.

"Where are we going?" Poe asks at last.

"I have unfinished business," Ben says, in a dangerously even tone.

"With Snoke or with your father?" Poe asks, trotting to keep up with Ben's long, purposeful stride. 

The space below the ice is a large chamber, stretching beyond sight, divided and supported by pillars of ice that stretch away into darkness. Every so often they pass an opening that leads up and away - a two chambered spiral like a sea-shell reaching upward toward some unseen overhead tower.

"With Snoke," Ben says, clipped. "Han Solo is nothing to me."

"That's not true," Poe says, catching up at last. "He came here to find you. He's your-"

Ben wheels on him suddenly, and the furthest reaches of dim, green light catch on the anger and agony in his eyes.

"We have not seen each other since I was seven," Ben says. "Do you count Snoke as your father? did he raise you? Did he teach you anything?"

His voice drops in pitch, "did he give you any power?"

"He didn't-" Poe begins.

"By that same merit," Ben growls, cutting Poe off. "Han Solo is not my father."

There is enough fury in his tone that Poe thinks better of arguing further. He's still a little afraid of Ben, and now isn't the time to argue - or the place. If they are unlikely allies - uneasy ones - this place requires them to forget anything else.

Poe changes track. "What's your business?"

"I'm going to kill him," Ben says. "For what he took from me."

Poe thinks of the massive Fae King he'd seen underground. Of the power inherent in the vision of him; of the Vader and the Immortal Emperor - both puppets and both powerful beyond measure. These - and all the magic that the Druidic Jedi have - are all on loan from the Fae King. 

"You can't face him alone," Poe warns. He reaches out to catch hold of Ben's arms, half expecting his fingers to pass through the wrists of a specter, to swirl through black smoke and encounter nothing. "King Skywalker is coming for Snoke. Leave it to his armies."

Poe's hands catch hold of something real, chord-strong muscle over iron-hard bone, and under black cloth. It surprises Poe more than it should. He knows that there is reality to him - he's felt it before.

"I have a weapon," Ben reminds, quietly. He looks back toward the waiting dragon - to the void where the foxfire doesn't touch.

"What does the weapon do?" Poe asks, certain that no matter what it is, it can't match an army.

"It nullifies magic," Ben says. "It will level the field."

Poe hold son tighter - it will stop Ben's magic if it stops Fae magic. "It's over, Ben. He can't hold you anymore. He lost."

Ben breaks his grip with a sinuous twist of his arms, a motion like a striking snake.

"It'll be over forever, soon," Ben says. "If he remains, he's a threat."

Poe looks around at all the splendor and all the isolation beneath the ice. They had flown a very long time to get here. In this moment, he wonders if the Fae King is the only remaining Fae. "To who?"

"Think about that," Ben says. He turns, and Poe realizes there is an end to this grand hall. Somehow, it has come very near to them as they spoke. Creeping up by some means or mechanism.

"His sworn enemy is the Skywalkers. What will you do when he goes after Rey's children?"

In the ringing shock that follows. Ben draws away. He is moving for the heart of the ice, breath streaming hot behind. There is one huge door at the end of the massive room. Carved of ice, it is adorned with a scene depicting a tangled multitude bowing low before the massive figure standing above them

In this image, he is a terrible and beautiful thing; nothing like the pale and twisted visage Poe had seen projected underground. He has burning rubies for eyes and flowing hair streaming out behind him as he stands over the subjugated, smiling and snarling at the same time.

Ben has a weapon, but he should not have to face the Fae King alone. Poe gently disentangles Beebee from his shirt, setting her on the floor. He draws his sword, and they prepare to push open the door.

-


	21. Chapter 21

The room is imposing - large and unending. It's like opening a door into the space between the stars. Except that a brilliant circle of daylight - _is it still the same day?_ \- creates a powerful spotlight on the floor. It's vast and sharply defined enough that Poe looks up, instinctively.

He can see a sort of shaft cut into the roof, filled with sunlight and capped with ice so clear he can see clouds moving across the blue sky above.

Remembering the gray sky as he and Han approached, he wonders if it's not an illusion, one spot of beauty in the depressing darkness of their surroundings.

Ahead in the darkness, there is a massive shape; a hint of paleness in the shadow.

"You've come back to me," The voice is deep and menacing, seeming to fill the entire space. Poe lowers his gaze and finds Ben standing in the center of the light. He skirts around the edge, staying hidden.

"I've come back _for_ you," Ben snarls, sword in hand. 

The Fae King laughs, and the sound fills the room, reverberating. It slides a feeling like a hot poker down Poe's spine, sending up gooseflesh over his arms, and he moves aside instinctively, just enough to be out of the way when the massive black beast joins Ben in the light.

"Everything you have, I've given to you," Snoke answers, and the anger there is the slow churning of magma beneath the mountains. Immortal and undying. It only grows as the years pass, getting hotter, running deeper.

Poe can't imagine what that must do to someone - but Ben gives him a pretty good idea.

"That's not true," Ben snarls. The dragon emerges into the light behind him, carrying shadow into the light. It doesn't resemble Black in anything but color, a massive, cruel-eyed creature slung low against the ground with some strange apparatus affixed to its back, with a strange array of antennas and metallic fins protruding up. At first impression, Poe almost mistakes it for a group of spears plunged into the dragon's back, like the old tapestries of hunts and fantastic beasts that hang in dark corners of the castle.

"What is this?" Snoke booms, rising from his seat at the first feeling of the device's field.

Ben raises his sword against the giant and reveals only bare steel. The air in the room seems to ripple and flex with power.

The light reveals Snoke as perhaps 20 feet tall, making truth of all those images of the Fae King standing over men; but his form is pale and twisted, the face carved by deep lines of scar tissue and signs of age.

"You dare," Snoke says, his face revealed as a mask of anger and terrific power. He raises his gnarled, bark-white hands in a beckoning motion as he squares off with Ben in the light.

But as he steps forward a change ripples over the massive form, and the illusion of size peels away, curling and tearing like a leaf in a fire until something far more like man-sized is revealed. Taller than Poe, but no giant - just another illusion.

Ben looks smug, but Snoke does not stop advancing on him.

"You will regret your defiance," the Fae snarls, lifting his hands again.

Ben raises his sword but Snoke does not strike with a weapon. Instead, his attention turns suddenly away toward the dragon. Too late, Poe realizes his intent - the animal snarls and roars, a shudder wracking its body as the war for dominance moves into the tender battlefield of its mind. It's lashing tail takes Poe off his feet, and he rolls backwards to avoid getting stepped on, holding his sword away from his body.

Power ripples and flickers in the air and the machine growls to life, drawing in the overflowing magic like lightning rods in a storm. Yet, by sheer volume some seems to escape, overpowering the machine's capacity. The dragon is swinging its head back and forth between the two.

Snoke has no weapon, perhaps disdaining the tools of men. Perhaps, the overwhelming power of his magic has never given him any cause to rely on them. His hands are extended, empty, toward the dragon. On the other side of the animal, Ben is very still, sword lowered and left hand raised.

Poe thinks there are probably tremendous powers at work in the center of that circle. He moves around the edge of it instead, sticking to the shadows. It's not very heroic, but if he goes unnoticed it's his best chance to have an opportunity to do something. No matter what Poe is, he knows he's outclassed, here.

Beebee calls out to him. - _They're trying to turn the dragon against each other._ -

"Well," Poe breathes, holding his sword a little tighter. "That's the biggest weapon in the room."

He feels Beebee agree with him, and knows she must be close enough to hear his whisper.

"Help Ben if you can," he says.

- _I'm not helping that monster,_ \- she protests.

"You're not," Poe agrees, trying to sound like he isn't going to argue about it. "You're fighting the other monster."

If she has anything else that she wants to say, it's interrupted by a low, rushing sound that freezes Poe's blood cold in his veins. The dragon is pulling air, chest expanding - it's going to breathe fire under allt his _ice_.

It wheels suddenly on Ben, fire alive between its teeth, bracing itself. Ben has to give up his fight for control, and then the whole room is alive with dragonfire so bright that it catches and reflects on every facet, seeming to set the entire chamber ablaze.

Everything vanishes but shadow - the two figures facing off and the huge, black dragon pouring flame. The Fae King's back is to Poe, an he acts then on pure instinct, lifting his sword and darting forward as the flames begin to die.

This isn't what he's here for - but Snoke threatens his actual errand, and Poe thinks if he can just get rid of this threat - as if it's as easy as swatting a fly or repairing a bad step - Rey and Finn will have a peaceful reign. The cycle will be over, leaving only the normal, easy problems of diplomacy and practical matters.

His blade stops inches from the tattered robe covering Snoke's back, stopped suddenly as if the air surrounding him is as thick and heavy as a swamp pool, resisting and gripping tightly at the same time.

He can't drive the sword forward or pull it free, and then the dragonfire flickers out. For a moment, Poe is blinded by the glowing purple after-image burned on his retinas, and then he fights to look up, blinking the dark stain away from the center of his vision and sees - just the dragon at first, arched and towering. Looking down at something beneath its claw.

_Ben!_

Poe leans his shoulder into his stuck sword, struggling for those last few inches.

"Now you understand your limits, boy," Snoke says. "The power you gave up to return to your human heritage."

Ben groans. Snoke steps forward to gloat, or to see the expression on Ben's face, agonizingly moving away from Poe as if he's not even there. It frees him from the grip of the spell, and Poe can feel the magic peeling away from him, lifting and pulled toward the device, churning in the air like smoke beneath Black's wings. 

"You will return to me," Snoke demands, hands raised, fingers twisting around the air in a vicious, choking way.

"No," Ben gasps. Poe can see how deeply one of the dragon's claws is embedded over his chest, and the slow pulse of his blood onto the ice.

"The power that you had before is yours again," Snoke continues, his voice softer now, like the soothing sounds of a mother animal. "Just return to me."

But there is a sinister growl beneath the soothing purr. The threat of death if Ben does not comply.

Poe steps forward, ready to strike again before Ben can answer, before he refuses and Snoke orders the dragon to kill him - or before he accepts and slips beyond the reach of reason forever.

As he moves, the circle on the floor glows brighter, Poe's shadow on it becomes darker and more clearly defined. A drop of cold water touches Poe's scalp, then another. He looks up.

The glass-clear skylight above them is awash in flame, and water is now streaming down, in runs and rivulets. Poe moves back instinctively, seeing Snoke and the black dragon look up as well. The massive shadow of wings darkens the sky behind the flames.

Falcon smashes her way through the last few inches of ice, scattering the figures below as she fights her way through the opening and descends on the battle below.

Everything quickly becomes chaos. Poe closes his eyes and commits, lunging out with his sword and feeling it connect, penetrate deeply into something, and the inhuman screech of pain that follows tells him he's struck true. Only then does he dare open his eyes to see Snoke's twisted features, mouth open in fury and hands grabbing the air uselessly.

Poe can feel magic beginning to gather, bulling it's way through the nullifying field and so he does the only thing he can think of and steps forward, shoves, _pushes_ with everything he has until the pressure of the sword's pommel against Snoke's body forces him back one step, then another.

"Beebee," he hears himself hiss, hoping she'll have presence of mind enough to understand what he needs.

The big black dragon moves into view behind Snoke. The Fake King's clawing hands reach for Poe's face, clawing at his cheek. The floor is slippery underfoot, a rain of water and shards of ice falling on them. He can feel Snoke's magic prying at his mind,the agony of it splashing over his awareness and for a moment, everything vanishes from his thoughts but fear.

Then impact jolts through his sword and up his arms, and the assault on his mind stops as white hot fire seems to burn up his palms, knifing along his forearms with the rapidity of his own blood coursing in his veins. He can hear Snoke screaming, see the blue and yellow streaks and forks of unrestrained magic knifing through the air, and then his ears pop as something impacts his chest with the force of a kicking mule, knocking Poe free of the fray.

He tumbles like a thrown doll, with his breath knocked out of him and his body seeming to be disconnected from his will, but not his awareness.

Impact jars through him, and the cold floor soaks his shirt and slides away from his attempts to hold on and stop his skid.

In the light, the two dragons battle; mouths gaping wide as they threaten each other. Even so big a room is nearly filled by the two massive creatures, and Poe instinctively pushes himself back toward the wall.

He can see that there's something wrong with the device on the black dragon - he'd jammed the protruding end of his sword into it, after all, hoping to incapacitate Snoke both physically and magically.

He can't see what's happening well enough to know if he has - just the flashes of escaping magic around the two fighting dragons. He sees Ben's glowing blade and hears Han shouting.

Poe picks himself up off the ground gingerly. His hands feel tender and his face hurts, and in the morning he'll be sore but nothing's broken and if the dragons start breathing fire, Poe doesn't want to be caught flat-footed.

Finally, the First Order animal has had enough - hurling itself against the wall and floor in a mad frenzy until the straps holding the well-smashed machine to it finally break, leaving it and Snoke behind in a crumple. Then, with a threatening hiss at Falcon, it leaps skyward, tucking it's wings to make it through the destroyed skylight and vanishing into the daylight. 

With any luck, Poe will never see it again. He has a new respect for Black already.

"Beebee?" he calls.

- _I'm here,_ \- she answers. - _Are you alright? Where are you?_ -

Poe moves toward the ring of light. He sees Ben standing up on the edge of the destroyed machine, sword drawn and aglow with red flame. There is determination in the set of his shoulders, in the tight curl of his hands into a fist. He raises the blade.

Poe looks for Han Solo instinctively. He thinks that someone should stop Ben, that he shouldn't - shouldn't have to strike the finishing blow on a creature that held so much power over him.

But then he finds Han, standing just beyond with a crossbow in his hands, waiting for Ben to come to a decision.

A small, acid thought in Poe's mind wonders if the bow is for Ben or Snoke.

- _Where_ are _you?_ \- Beebee repeats urgently. - _Are you alright?_ -

Poe's not sure. Every muscle is wound up tight in his body and he feels like he's been hit by a lightning strike. But he can't take his eyes off the figures standing in the light,e ven as he feels Beebee's anxiety heightening when he doesn't answer.

Ben raises the sword. Han aims a shot.

"I need your help," Ben says, his voice small - like the voice he'd used as a boy. "I know what I have to do but I don't know if I'm strong enough to do it."

"No," a twisted, ugly voice growls from Ben's feet. "No, _no_ you fool!"

"Anything," Han says, and though his voice is low, it carries.

"You fool!" Snoke shrieks, and then the red flame of his power is lancing for Ben.

Han and his son strike in the same moment.


	22. Chapter 22

The palace of the Fae King doesn't do anything quite so dramatic as immediately collapse or explode. It more - folds.

- _I don't like this,_ \- Beebee worries.

"I agree," Poe says. "Get on the dragon!"

- _What's_ she _gonna do?_ \- Beebee demands, even as she scrambles over the wet, cold floor toward the reassuring bulk of Falcon. - _She can't take off from down here!_ -

"We'll worry about that later," Poe calls, knowing even as he says it that 'later' is in about five seconds.

The shadows are crawling out of the ice now, abandoning the depths to reveal a smaller room than he'd thought. Poe gets to Falcon and turns back - neither Han nor Ben are there yet.

With the room revealed to light and the whole palace shaking as parts of it withdraw - Poe thinks he can see towers vanishing from view, pulled back under the ice like carefully extended feelers. The whole palace is about to fold down, solidifying beneath the ice as if it was never here.

Poes heart fills with fear. He scoops up Beebee and turns toward Han and Ben, still standing frozen over the remains of the machine and whatever was left of Snoke.

"C'mon guys, we gotta go!" he yells, hoping to shake them out of their trance. 

Ben is looking at his own empty hands, and Poe can tell there's something wrong with them, but from this distance he can't tell what. He doesn't even look up.

"Ben!" Han's voice rings out through the creaking protests of groaning ice, warning of a far more imminent failure than Poe likes to consider. 

Some old instinct in Ben answers, like Poe has seen Rey occasionally answer to King Skywalker, even though she's fully grown and has been on her own long enough to know she can survive. Like Poe would still answer to his own mother and father, if they were alive to call out to him.

"Beebee, I need you to help me fly Falcon," he says, throwing himself at the straps to climb up onto her saddle.

- _What?_ \- Beebee asks.

"Just get her ready to go as soon as I give the signal," Poe urges, practically tossing his familiar ahead of him before he gets all the way up into the Pilot's seat.

- _We'll never,_ \- Beebee starts, but then she resigns herself to the task. - _What do I do about this other familiar?_ -

Poe heaves his sore body into place and begins strapping himself in, glancing back. Sure enough, Han's borrowed First Order familiar is still there, tongue lolling blissfully out of its mouth, as if it couldn't ask for more pleasing surroundings. 

"Shouldn't be a problem," Poe says. "Get her over to Han."

Falcon takes only two heavy steps and engulfs the distance. Poe can almost feel how tired she is from her earlier exertions. 

"Great timing, Kid," Han calls up, practically shoving a gingerly moving Ben ahead of him up the climbing rig.

When Poe reaches down to help Ben up onto the saddle, he clasps a bloody, badly burnt hand and he hears the painful gasp but has no time to be sure how bad the damage is before he's reaching down for Han.

His fingers are bloody and warm from the contact. Ben seems to be in shock. Han scrambles up afterwards and Poe gets the dragon turned around again.

"Hold on to anything you wanna keep!" Poe warns, forming an image as clearly as possible in his thoughts for Beebee to translate to Falcon.

Big parts of the room have vanished now, slamming down to the floor and sealing off the main door that they'd come in through. Poe keeps his eyes on the skylight, the hole that Falcon had somehow fit through. It looks impossible now. Far above them and - _it's getting smaller!_

"Beebee, we gotta go now!" Poe shouts, grabbing hold of the saddle, hoping that the other passengers have either fully strapped in already or have the sense to hang on.

There's no room to take off down here, no chance of flying out, but it may just be possible to -

Falcon lifts up onto her hind legs, stretching out her massive grey body and reaching up, up toward the shrinking daylight. It too seems to be folding away, slowly imploding on itself like wet parchment.

When it seems Falcon will never quite make it, she gives a massive surge with her back legs, a sort of undignified hop that closes the meters between the lower rim of ice and her reaching front claws.

They sink deep, sliding for a terrifying moment - Poe thinks the ice can't possibly bear her weight,but then she's moving, dragging herself up against all odds on crumbling edifices, moving faster than Poe would have given her credit for.

At the top of the hole, he realizes her shoulders are barely going to clear - dangerous for all the much less armored men and familiars on her back.

"Everybody get down," is all the warning Poe can manage before he has to throw himself flat over the saddle against her neck.

Falcon beats at the ice with her wings, knocking some loose to widen the opening, but even so, Poe is squeezed so flat against her back he wonders if all they'll find is a red smear between Falcon's wings as ice tears at his flight jacket and then the skin beneath.

Then - suddenly - they're free. On top of a plain of sinking ice, with the now-distant spires slowly withdrawing beneath the surface as far as Poe can see. Erasing themselves and all traces of the empty Fae Kingdom beneath, like a spider's curled limbs signal its death.

-

Poe gets them in the air before the ice gets any more unstable. It was unlikely to sink completely, but he doesn't want to find out what the final shape will be.

It has time to sink in that he's flying Falcon - _the_ Falcon - and that they're all alive, time to throw his head back and whoop in half-manic joy - before Han unclips himself from the co-pilot's position.

"Alright, kid, good job," he says, sounding flat and disgusted with Poe's (better) piloting. Jealous. "I'll take it from here."

His hand comes down on Poe's shoulder in a way that's equal parts congratulatory and firm - an insistence that he give up the reins, so to speak. 

Poe doesn't fight it - as amazing as it is to fly such an enormous and legendary dragon, he's tired and sore, and not entirely sure which direction home is in.

- _Your back is bleeding,_ \- Beebee observes. 

Poe bets it is. It stings, and he can feel the cold air pushing past the remains of his coat, but he doesn't care.

They're going home - and he knows there are a lot of things to face there, but for now, it feels good. Right.

He glances back at Ben and sees that he's pale - almost bone white, and his hands are held protectively against his chest, hidden from the cold in his black robes. He looks more like himself with his hair toussled by the wind, and a shocked, vulnerable expression on his features. No shadow or anger remains; just a quiet, distant agony.

For him, the trip home has been a long one.

-

Han pushes Falcon on for a very long time. well into the night, as if stopping would give the world a chance to catch up. Poe's muscles lock up in agony, well abused by the fight and now forced to be still in saddle position for so long that they pass numb. He's freezing - his jacket is torn and his hands are still unprotected. 

Yet, Han flies on - they must be nearly back to First Order territory by now, if not already over it, and the full of darkness is on them. It's as if he's afraid his accomplishments will vanish or slip away from him if he touches ground. Maybe it's the fear of losing Ben again, before Leia can see him.

Judging from the pale and glassy-eyed look on Ben's face, and the way he stares fixedly into the middle distance, there's some danger of that even here in the sky.

"Han," Poe calls, trying to cut the heavy silence. "We need to make camp."

For a moment, Poe's not sure he can hear - it's too dark to see any reaction. Too dark to fly over First Order territory without any lamps on Falcon's wings.

"We can't put down," Han says. "Too close to the capital."

Poe thinks he looks at Ben when he says it.

"I can't fly any longer," Poe says, willing to take the brunt of Han's ire to get them onto the ground.

"Jump off, then," Han snaps.

Poe, sore and aching and _pretty_ sure he can sweet talk himself out of any trouble with the First Order - after all, he's reasonably sure that Finn will back him up - actually considers this.

But it won't help Ben.

"Beebee," he mutters, feeling like he could use a little help, too. "Can you get us on the ground?"

- _You mean without Han's permission?_ \- she asks, sounding intrigued. Poe glances up at Han, at the hellbent expression on his face.

He nods.

- _Depends,_ \- Beebee says.

" _Try,_ " Poe urges in a whisper.

Beebee goes quiet, focusing on the task set to her, and Poe feels the angle of flight change. Han swears, and the little hairs on the back of Poe's neck stand up.

- _She's tired,_ \- Beebee explains. - _She's more willing to listen to me than Han because she needs a rest._ -

She sounds almost gleeful, maybe seeing it as revenge for Han's earlier slights against her. Poe doesn't dare respond - he knows how he'd feel if anyone commandeered Black out from under him.

-That's _for calling me a weasel,_ \- Beebee comments proudly as they descend. Poe thinks he can feel Han's gaze burning into him more deeply the closer they get to the ground.

When they've landed - thankfully not in the middle of the capital fortress - Han rounds on Poe immediately.

Poe stops him by sliding down from the saddle so quickly his legs buckle on the ladder. Ben comes after, clearly urgently wanting down, and Han has no choice but to follow, eyes locked on Poe with a certain murderousness.

"Don't you _ever_ -" Han starts, pointing a finger up into Poe's face.

"Do you have a first aid kit?" Poe asks, cutting off Han's tirade - he knows Han is used to leading, used to making all his own decisions, but Poe is a leader, too. 

Han stammers to a stop. Poe looks him in the eyes, then glances at Ben, who is still sheltering his injured - and now probably half frozen - hands - against his sides. There's a jagged hole in his robes as well, over one side of his chest where the dragon's claw had pierced.

_Help him,_ Poe thinks at Han as hard as possible, praying that his meaning will get through all that hard-headedness. _Show him you're still his father._

"-yes," Han hisses, turning suddenly to loose the cargo secured beneath Falcon's belly as if it was his idea all along.

Poe knows he's not off the hook, but he's secured a stay of execution. He moves away, wobbling on stiff legs that don't want to take him anywhere, until he can find enough privacy to empty his bladder.

- _It'd serve you right if the First Order really caught you this time,_ \- Beebee observes, staying close at his side but clearly displeased with his activities.

"Like you never have to pee," Poe says, wiping his hands cursorily on his pants. They're so cold the friction feels good. "And you'd be caught too."

- _I'd get you out again,_ \- Beebee says, proud of herself.

"I know you would," Poe agrees. "Thanks for your help with Falcon."

Beebee practically beams with pride. Poe strips off his ruined flight jacket, wincing at the cold and the way it's stuck to his skin in several places. The chill seems eager to find his bruised and scraped skin.

"How bad is it?" he asks Beebee, displaying his back for her.

- _You've had worse,_ she assesses. - _More bruised than bleeding._ -

"That'll fade," Poe allows. He probes his back carefully with his fingers and finds that nothing is pouring blood. It'll be better if he can keep it covered. He turns his shirt around, well aware that it looks ridiculous, but he doubts Han will let them actually sleep and it's the best he can do to keep warm. He puts his tattered flight jacket back on and buttons up the front.

- _It should be easy to cover up for the wedding,_ \- Beebee observes. - _That mark on your face, though..._ -

Poe almost groans - he'd forgotten, except for some small corner of his mind. Rey and Finn must be concerned by now. He lifts his hand absently to the scratch Snoke had left on his cheek.

Now, suddenly, in place of all the worry he'd had before about his own inability to truly commit, Poe feels anxiety that he may have missed his opportunity. Worse, he may have missed the whole ceremony.

Troubled, he lifts his eyes toward the night sky, trying to pick out any new constellations. _Maybe_ , he thinks, trying to see any difference in the sky he's flown beneath a thousand times, _they've changed their minds about including me._

But the worry refuses to take hold. Poe knows the people he loves too well - they'll be waiting for him to return with an explanation. He misses them both, and it feels like he's been away longer than it's possible he could have. 

- _Are you going to tell them?_ \- Beebee asks.

Poe will have to. "I think I'd better talk to King Skywalker first."

It promises to be an intimidating and difficult conversation, but Poe knows it's his best chance for an answer he can trust.

- _Will it change anything if it's true?_ \- 

Poe flexes his aching hands. He glances back toward the big shadow he knows is Falcon, and sees Han tending to Ben's hands. It's too far away and too dark to see the details.

"Only that Rey and Finn should know," Poe says. "If it's not a secret, then it has no power."


	23. Chapter 23

Poe's not sure what day it is when the castle and attached town come into view. It feels like a slow re-attachment to the world, returning from a dream, except he knows Ben is in the saddle behind him, quiet and reserved. Perhaps time has detached from him for all the long years that he's been in the power of the Fae.

More likely he's still in shock. Poe had seen the remains of his hands,and the gauge in his chest. The second injury would heal - was already well scabbed in an angry pink against pale skin. 

The hands - Poe doesn't know. He'd had one look at them before they were covered and he knows the difference time can make. It'll be up to magic, now, and clearly not the kind Snope taught.

Nothing could be done until they were home, and the sight of it fills Poe's heart up with longing.

Brilliant white pennants are streaming from the tops of the towers, and from the tall buildings in the surrounding city. Poe sees no sign of any dragons on the steppes alongside the castle. Not even Black - who should be there, by all expectations.

 _I hope he's not out wooing some other dragon_ Poe thinks.

"We've got a flag from a patrol on Starboard," Han says, calling Poe's attention back. "Can you handle it?"

Poe follows Han's indicating finger and sees a whole wing of flying dragons - no mere patrol - and at the head is Black, flown by a small figure in flight leathers.

The image surprises and confuses Poe so much that it takes him a moment to figure out. The wing second, flying to the left of the lead dragon and behind in a V-shape like geese fly, is raising a semaphore flag requesting landing and identification.

 _It's the fly-over!_ Poe realizes, looking down to see the streets in the city below lined and decorated and waiting for the wedding procession. 

- _That's Rey on black_ -Beebee tells Poe.

"Kid, will you give them a flag before they fly up our backside?" Han shouts.

Poe rummages behind his saddle and finds a disorganized half-complete collection of tattered, well-used flags. He manages to find one that doesn't indicate aggression and hopes it will do without too much confusion.

The second - Jess, he thinks - flags back for them to land ont he plateau,and Poe offers at humbs up to agree rather than hoisting 'Pilot on Board' again.

"Put her down over there," Poe tells Han, heart racing. He hasn't missed the wedding, but there's no time to be ready for it - no time to explain where he's been or what he's learned.

But he _made_ it; mission complete.

Han takes Falcon down as intended and the wing lands carefully ahead of them, assuming a well-formed half-circle to contain the strange dragon.

- _I think they recognized you,_ \- Beebee says. - _Rey's worried you got kidnapped again._ -

"For someone who has so much faith in me," Poe says, stroking Beebee's back as a means to reassure them both, "her opinion of my abilities is so low."

As soon as he hits the ground, Rey's arms are around him, and he eases his around her ribsas she squeezes him almost hard enough to drive his breath out.

"You _made_ it," she says.

"I'm sorry I went away so close to the wedding," Poe says.

She drops down to her own feet again,a nd he realizes he'd been holding her up. Her sweet brown eyes are practically glowing up at him, and his smile answers.

"You didn't miss it," she says, clearly happy that he's there.

Poe feels his smile sliding crazily, helplessly over his teeth as she smiles at him.

"You owe me a very long story," she asserts.

"Princess," Poe says, "you'd better get changed."

She laughs. "You too, Knight-Captain. All of your pilots are dressed in uniform. You don't want to be the odd man out."

The next few minutes are a blur. He loses track of Ben and Han, swept up in the joyful preparations and into the castle. Rey pats him goodbye when the party divides in the hallways,and Poe turns to see her looking over her shoulder at him with a reassuring wave.

- _She says you'll do fine,_ \- Beebee tells him, as Snap and Jess firmly steer him toward the groom's encampment - for lack of a better word - so that he can be made ready for his place in the ceremony. 

"All that fuss to get a custom tailored suit," Jess scolds, as they keep Poe moving despite his sore body and exhaustion. "And you almost didn't even get to _wear_ it!"

-

Poe transfers his grimy, bruised body from his dirty set of clothes to the clean, finely tailored suit. He feels deeply apologetic to it's maker for the state he'll be in wearing it. He can hear music, and as soon as it's clear Poe can handle pinning on his own corsage and arranging Beebee's, the other pilots hurry off to their places. 

Poe wishes he had the time to shave, time to do more than artfully arrange his dirty hair. Rey surely still has some preparations to make, but she has force magic and he doesn't put it past her to use it to help herself along.

He has what he thinks is Snap's comb and a wet wash cloth for his face in a tent erected on the castle lawn. Admittedly, it's a nice tent - but Poe would rather see his friends get married - would rather be married _himself_ \- after a hot bath and a quiet breakdown of nerves and maybe just a little drink. 

No time to worry about any of that now.

- _Seven's here,_ Beebee tells him, sitting up on a cushioned chair along one wall of the tent. 

"Seven?" Poe asks, surprised as he struggles with his bow-tie.

The falcon wings its way into the tent, wearing a spray of baby's breath and a single white rose on an artful set of ties. It's just like the ones Poe and Beebee are wearing, just worn over the falcon's chest to kep from interfering with his flight.

He's carrying something. He's also heading straight for Poe with unwavering, intense eyes and a sharp, albeit small beak. Poe gets his arm up in time to provide a place for Seven to land, and then the box he's carrying impacts Poe's chest and he catches it instinctively with his other hand. It's small enough to sit in his palm with his fingers closed over it.

Seven's weight on Poe's arm is far less than he would have guessed it to be, and the sharp talons seem barely to dent his sleeve. For a long second Poe is transfixed by one, sharp, piercing eye; deep black and ringed in gold, intense looking under the war-paint markings of the bird's face.

- _He says it's from Finn, and that instructions are inside_ \- Beebee tells Poe.

Poe looks down at the box. It's small, pale wood with engraved, looping decorations. His name is on the top.

- _He also says that Wen conveys his congratulations for finding someone better at holding hands, and wishes us good luck,_ \- Beebee continues.

Poe looks up from the box again. Seven begins to turn around on his arm, getting ready to go. 

"Thank you," Poe says.

The hawk shakes his tail once, as if dismissing Poe and then boosts off of Poe's arm, taking flight effortlessly and leaving through the open flap of the tent.

Poe looks at the box in his hand again. "So, I guess Wen knows."

- _Is that bad?_ \- Beebee asks, climbing the back of Poe's leg so she can have a look at what Seven has delivered.

"Well, either that means he'll tell everybody," Poe decides, unsure if that's good or bad, really. Except, pilots talk and courtiers listen and word tends to get back to Seneschal Tarkin. "Or no one will ever know."

Poe has a sense of what's in the box before he opens it, revealing a carefully folded sheet of fine cream paper. Beneath that, a heavy silver ring and a chain to hold it when it's not on his finger. It's subtle, but on the inside he sees it's inscribed where it will press against his skin.

 _One under the stars,_ it says.

Poe smiles, thinking back to the conversation he'd overheard after his first adventure - about the new constellation. The same one he'd looked for the previous night, to reassure himself he hadn't missed anything.

Finn's handwritten note is printed in practical block-lettering, a bold hand that's straight and neat.

_Poe-_

_I know you didn't have any time to write vows, so we tucked a few lines in for you. When it's time, put it on the same time we do. Love you,_

Finn and Rey have both signed it - he guesses a runner had gone between them to make sure everything was ready at the last moment. The last words swell up in Poe's heart so much, ring so right and true and _reassuring_ , that Poe almost feels like he needs to sit down. 

- _Sit down later!_ \- Beebee reminds. - _It's going to start any second!_ -

If anyone notices Poe running to take his place with the pilots with an undone bow-tie and a less than polished appearance, they are polite enough not to mention it. He falls into the head of the line to one side of the aisle, making it before the bells start ringing and the wedding march begins and - well birds and streamers and the whole nine yards.

His hand is curled over the ring in his pocket, warming the metal against his palm and feeling the chain that will keep it safe around his neck for years to come.

The rest of the ceremony is kind of a daze - Finn looking nervous and gorgeous in his dress armor, his forehead spangled in sweat as he waits at the altar, looking forward and up. Poe knows that his thoughts must be a whirlwind of reminders, of things Finn has to remember not to mess up.

Then he looks back once, over his shoulder at Poe, and smiles nervously. Poe answers with his best encouraging grin, trying to reassure Finn as much as he should have been al along. conscious that the eyes of the whole kingdom are on this event, Poe offers Finn a wink, and sees the way his smile grows in answer.

- _He looks good,_ \- Beebee agrees with Poe's thoughts, smugly. - _You chose good mates._ -

Standing in a lineup as the music swells and changes, Poe can hardly argue that they chose him just as much.

When Rey appears, he forgets he had anything to say at all.

- _Wow,_ \- Beebee echoes, and Poe can feel her affection radiating through him, reabounding around in the hollow of breathless space behind his ribs.

Rey, for all she hated the idea of the dress, is not done a disservice by it. With her hair actually left down and flowers woven through, she's a striking picture, the contrast of brilliant white flowers against her dark hair complimenting both.

She's moving slowly up the petal-strewn aisle, with her eyes forward on Finn, her chin lifted and a regality to her posture that means every eye is on her. It may be years - decades - before she truly begins to rule the kingdom, but in this moment she's in clear command of their hearts and thoughts.

As she passes, she hesitates for just a fraction of a second, wrinkling her nose up and looking at Poe just from the corners of her eyes.

- _She says she only has to go so slow so the shoes don't kill her,_ \- Beebee reveals, and Poe has to stifle his laugh behind a hastily raised hand, and a falsified cough.

He sees the victorious smile she wears - prettier than even the elegant cream and white and lace dress - as she steps up to the altar. How she reaches for Finn's hand and how that steadies him when he takes it. Then - gently - there is the sensation of fingers closing over his free hand too, and Poe is drawn into the rest of the ceremony as a participant.

At the right moment, he slips the ring on his finger in the secrecy of his pocket, and mouths along with the words, knowing that later when they have a little privacy, they'll all repeat them together.

Snap elbows Poe a little in the side. "You better go fly the getaway vehicle or Rey will never give it back."

Sure enough, Black is waiting at the end of the flower-covered aisle, and Beebee is radiating pride at her contribution into the back of Poe's mind that overshadows the terrified screaming of his muscles at the prospect of climbing back into the saddle.

He heaves himself up with the fortitude of years of riding and gets into the harness with only a small wince. Black has - Poe sees Rey's influence here - allowed himself to be festooned with flowers and ribbons all over his harness, trailing over his back and flanks.

He helps Finn up, then Rey. She's forced to sit sidesaddle in back with her arms around Finn's middle. Then, with her friends and various attendees gathered at a respectful distance she winds up and hurls her bouquet at the group of pilots knotted together in the midler.

Poe sees it hit Captain Wen Kentalen straight in the face before the other pilots can react.

"Hey, no!" Jess' voice lifts above the laughter and scrambling that erupts at Wen's feet. "That's mine, get-"

She emerges from the scuffle with her uniform pulled into a dissaray and the boquet - somewhat worse for the wear - held overhead in triumph.

Finn leans in against Poe's back. "That's our cue."

Poe is still laughing when he tells Beebee to take them up, glad that it will be a short flight - it'll seem so much longer with Finn's arms around his waist and Rey's fingers tracing affectionate patterns against his lower back through his shirt.

-


	24. Chapter 24

"Take us high," Rey urges, stroking her fingers against Poe's lower back with a gentle, enticing motion.

"You're not running away from your own wedding, are you?" Poe asks, glancing over his shoulder - finding Finn grinning at him, and Rey leaning around his shoulder. 

"Just wanting a little privacy," Finn says, reaching forward to put his hand over Poe' s on the harness. It aligns their rings together, worn on the same finger of each hand.

They're high enough that no one can see when Poe twists around in the saddle so that they can kiss him, so that he can kiss both of them in slow, tender turns. It pulls a weight and pressure off his heart and replaces it with ease.

He hasn't changed. He's pretty sure that this part of himself; this devotion to the two people who he loves is never going to transform.

"I'm glad you made it back to us in time," Rey says.

"Well, you were doing fine without me," Poe answers. Once, that might have stung him - now, he knows that even if he's not there, his place can't vanish. It exits between and around them, like their places exist in Poe's heart all the time. 

"I told you I'd do the flyover," Rey grins. She tips Poe's head back against Finn's shoulder and kisses him soundly on the forehead where she can reach.

"She said it would be easier if we pretended you were here the whole time," he says.

Poe grins. 

"I had a mission," he says, knowing he owes an explanation. "From the General." 

"She said it was something like that," Rey says. "Was that really _the_ Falcon you came back on?"

"Whoa," Finn says. "I can't wait to hear this story."

"I promise to tell it to you," Poe says, "but shouldn't we get back to your party?"

"I want to change, first," Rey says. "I can't dance in this thing."

Poe steers Black back toward the castle, enjoying the wind against his face, feeling the way exhaustion slips away.

"You look beautiful, though," Poe says. Finn nods, agreeing.

"You could use a shave," Rey suggests, smiling in pleasure at the compliment.

"More than that," Poe says, guiding them in for a landing. "I'd like a bath and a good night's sleep, but I didn't want to miss anything."

- _I'm going to take a nap,_ \- Beebee says.

"You deserve it," Poe tells her, smoothing his hand over her body gently.

"Sleep well," Rey agrees.

Black lands lightly, tucking his wings and standing politely for Poe to get his harness off. Finn helps Rey down, mindful of all her layers of skirts - Beebee solicits affection from each of her friends before she dismisses herself, tail lifted and steps sprightly enough that Poe wonders if she's _really_ off to nap, or has some mischief in mind.

"So do you think Knight-Captain Kentalen counts as catching the bouquet, or are we awarding that honor to Knight Pava?" Rey asks, speculatively. 

"I wouldn't try to take that victory away from her," Poe says, giving Black an affectionate pat before the dragon departs. "Trust me."

Rey laughs. They don't believe him, but Poe _knows_.

"I think she's going to make her move this evening anyway," Poe says, thinking of her earlier efforts to woo the First Order Captain.

"That's good to hear," Rey says. "it means that people have begun to accept peace."

It's part of what this was all about; putting the war behind them. Poe smiles. The past can stay safely where it is. The walk through the castle halls feels more like a homecoming this time than it had even when they'd retaken control of it.

The guard's wing has been returned to service, and the halls are as active as pulsing veins with people coming and going to keep the rest of the evening's celebrations on track. Passersby wish them well as they make their way, and Rey loops her arm through Poe's at the elbow, and Finn's on the other side, taking charge.

Poe knows it's just the beginning, but he feels like he fits exactly right.

-

Later, as the stars come out, three new ones have appeared in the sky, brilliant and bright as the one he knows belongs to Luke Skywalker, and it feels so big, so overwhelmingly large as Poe comes downstairs - late from taking the chance to shave and wash up. The patrons in the ballroom are pointing up at the evening sky.

Two stars in a line, with one thrust slightly ahead of them; Poe sees a dragon with wings outstretched by instinct.

" _Three_ stars?" he hears, and then the game of speculation begins. Poe retreats to the balcony to recover from the dizzying feeling of realness that overcomes him, watching the proceedings with the mindful curiosity required of a Knight-Commander.

Leia is absent - not unexpected. King Skywalker had been at the ceremony, but now has either taken his leave early or not yet made his appearance at the reception. People stand in social groups, pointing skyward and otherwise discussing whatever crosses their minds. The aura of tension that had accompanied the earlier joint celebrations of the Kingdom and the First Order is gone. 

He spots Jess Pava moving through the crowd with a suspiciously familiar flower woven into her elaborately arranged hair and a definite purposeful tilt to her gait. It looks so determined that it almost ruins the impression she makes in her dress. Heads turn to follow her, and she doesn't notice. Her eyes are trained on the tall form of Captain Phasma, across the room.

Poe smiles, and secretly wishes her luck on her quest, looking out for the rest of of his pilots. He sees Snap holding his own with a younger tag-along at his side who appears to be asking questions at a rate of about ten a minute, leaving the older pilot looking somewhat beleaguered. A candidate, perhaps.

His eyes pick out Iolo and Kare and several other pilots in the crowd, and then settle easily on Finn and Rey who are brilliant at the center of the room. The whole place seems to light up around them, with people wishing them well, a crowd concentrating around them as if some of the glow might rub off.

"I believe you're off-duty, Knight-Commander," a voice from behind him says. 

Poe straightens his back and turns around at attention, without tripping himself for once. 

"Your majesty," Poe says, surprised to see him away from Leia.

It has to be a good sign - he would not have left Leia if there was any trouble. He hopes she's getting a chance to reconnect with Ben, that Han's determination means there's some truth in the certainty that her presence would help to begin the change that needs to happen in their son.

"How is he?" Poe asks.

"Early to tell for certain," The king says. he steps past Poe without really acknowledging the sharp salute, leaning on the railing where Poe himself had stood all those months ago and looking down over the grand entryway. Poe takes the invitation to lean next to him that it implies.

"His injuries aren't deadly," Luke continues, "but they'll change his life."

"I'd say that was bound to happen anyway," Poe says.

Luke nods. He pauses. "I hope you don't plan on vanishing again any time soon, Knight-Commander."

"No, sir," Poe says. He wants to stay right here with Rey and Finn. "If it hadn't been General Organa asking me last time, I wouldn't have gone then."

Luke laughs a little, sounding fond. "My sister is very convincing. I wouldn't have said no to her, either."

Poe nods. "I'm glad I didn't let her down."

"And how are _you_ after all this?" Luke asks, looking sidelong at Poe. Watching to catch any initial reaction. 

"I'm not exactly sure," Poe admits. "It depends on a few things."

Luke waits with the patience of the ages for Poe to be ready to - ask, or confess, or whatever this is. 

"Ben told me some things," Poe says. "About myself."

Luke waits, and Poe wishes he'd _say_ something, react in some way, reveal a sign that Poe is right or wrong.

Finally, Poe lifts his eyes off the crowd below and asks, "is it true?"

Luke looks for a moment like he's going to give a non-answer. Something rational and comforting, maybe even avoiding the subject outright. Instead, he reaches out, laying his hand on Poe's shoulder in comforting solidarity.

His hand compresses the chain Poe's ring now hangs on against his skin, under his clothes.

"It's true," Luke says. "I was there when your parents lost their first child, and when they took you in. They never meant for you to know."

"Is there any chance I'm dangerous?" Poe asks.

Luke Skywalker laughs. "Knight-Commander you were the scourge of the skies in the war. You defeated Kylo Ren and broke Snoke's control over him, and I understand you had a part in Snoke's defeat as well. Of course you're dangerous."

Luke thumps him on the back, a gesture that serves to fortify Poe. "We're all dangerous. But I know you're not going to turn on us. Now go on down there and celebrate."

It's a relief, a comfort to know that Luke believes in him, of all people.

"Thank you, sir," Poe says. Luke gives him a sly look that suggests Poe doesn't need to be quite so formal with him anymore and they both know it.

"That's an order, Dameron," Luke says, and Poe heads downstairs, determined to reach Rey and Finn before the dancing starts.

-

Later, they slip away - the evening wears on and the music plays and people dance. For a while, King Skywalker watches from the balcony with a fond happiness.

Poe dances with Rey and Finn once each, and the audacity of it will draw some remarks, but they all know Poe well enough to dismiss it's a stunt. They all know except Rey and Finn who smile at him, who reach out when they can and make a thousand tallies on his skin in casual contact until he's dizzy with it.

Then, they escape as soon as the attention trained on then begins to wane. The hall stays filled - after all, it's not surprise for a married couple to desire some time alone, and no reason for the party to stop.

Poe waits the polite amount of time it is prudent to before he follows after, making his excuse to the guests he's been enjoying conversation with. There are still people dancing, still plenty of guests content to celebrate and take advantage of the occasion. No one will notice Poe is gone until so many others have also left that this is safe, like the ring brushing over his chest under the screen of his shirt.

As he passes the rose garden, he hesitates. The plants have recovered through tender ministrations, now shaped and green again. The branches are tipped in fat green buttons that will soon bloom.

It's beautiful, but not what stops him. He hears voices and sees two figures - one clad in the armor of the First Order - sitting at the edge of the clear square where he and Finn practice on some mornings.

Then he realizes the other figure is his own Captain, and the hushed tone indicates shared memories and remembrances rather than any plotting Poe leaves them to it, spotting Seven up on the overhanging ledge, silhouetted against the sky. He leaves them alone.  
Upstairs, they're waiting for him in Rey's - now both of theirs, he supposes - chambers. The moonlight provides an ethereal silver glow through Rey's soft, white curtains and the room smells of flowers.

"We've survived," Poe says, feeling exhaustion crawl up his back again as Rey reaches out to take his hand and pull him toward her. Finn wraps around him from behind.

"You did well," Rey says.

Poe laughs. "I just had to stand there and not cry. You two did all the difficult things."

He leans back against Finn. "Good job out there, buddy."

"I was so nervous," Finn admits

"You did great," Poe says. "I would have forgotten a bunch of words."

Rey laughs, she pulls both of them deeper into the room and Poe thinks bed - _sleep_ \- sounds wonderful. He disentangles from them long enough to get his shoes off. He takes a step and something soft and waxy sticks to his foot.

"Rose petals?" he asks.

Rey wrinkles her nose. "For our special evening."

"If only they knew," Finn adds.

Poe chuckles. "We shouldn't spoil the illusion, it means so much to them."

Even so, he settles into bed between them and sinks down into the welcome softness with rose petals sticking to every exposed patch of skin.

"Here, too?" Rey says, incredulous.

"Here, it's worse," Finn says, brushing petals off the blanket.

"If I figure out who did this," Rey says, a clear threat in her tone.

"You'll write them a nice note to thank them and tell them to mind their own business," Finn suggests.

"I was thinking gladiatorial combat," Rey says.

Finn leans over Poe to kiss her and then she seems content to forgive the unknown decorator.

Poe kisses her next,t he long slow and sweet promise that they hadn't gotten to share at the altar. Then he kisses Finn, and from there it drifts on, easy and comfortable, except for the occasional stray flower petal stuck someplace unpleasant.

They undress each other, careful and soft, revealing themselves - this time Poe feels no remorse for his scars. Finn tuts over Poe's bruises, working his mouth over them until they feel better by method of distraction. Rey's touch is a cool contrast to their mouths.

Poe relaxes between them as they touch and soothe; as they explore each other like it's brand new again. In a way, it is. This will be a night for a few firsts - as they'd agreed between themselves.

Finn makes the first move, covering Poe's cock with his hand as Poe kisses his way down Rey's body. She hoists herself up over him, clearly knowing exactly where she's going and what she's demanding.

Poe's mouth goes wet and hungry at the idea, his hands framing her hips and cradling them forward. She lifts herself on her knees over him with one hand on the backboard of the bed, the other easing into Poe's hair.

At the first touch of his tongue between her thighs, she makes an approving noise, the headboard rattling as she hangs on tighter, and her fingers grip his hair hard. Poe licks her open, eyes closed, but aware of her noises, of how she shifts over him, of the salt-sweet taste of her and the way the whole experience involves him beyond his body.

Poe sinks down into it, allowing sensations to overrun him - the wet drag of the flat of his tongue over her clit and the rough stroke of Finn's hand on his cock. It's easy, comfortable, and Rey sighs and rocks herself against him until she's satisfied with the pressure and then Finn is kissing her, and Poe can taste his fingers moving against Rey's entrance and _he's_ groaning because the biggest turnon is that it's all of them together.

Rey pushes back, lifting herself to push against Finn's touch, sinking herself against his fingers in a clear demand for more.

By mutual agreement, Finn and Poe let Rey lead, and she sets a quick, harsh pace, pushing Finn down thist ime. She leans down over him, smiling.

"Are you ready?

They all are. Rey sinks down onto him, slow and wet and slick, her hands twined up with Finn's and Poe doesn't think there's two more people in the universe as he watches them together, moving in slow synchronization until Rey reaches out for him, too, her small fingers like steel around his wrist as she guides his hand into place over her clit, pressing her back against Poe's front as she rides over Finn.

He can feel the way Finn's moving in her,a nd the way she clenches and shudders when he gets it just right.

When she finds release she shares it with them, broadcasting over their focus and connection, uniting them in way that spills over into release - first for Rey, and then in the frantic aftershocks for Finn and Poe. It's like nothing he's ever felt,a nd he cums almost untouched, just from proximity

They lower themselves down into a sticky, sated mess and Poe surrenders to a doze cradled around and on top of them.

"Useless," Rey grunts affectionately, patting Poe with a firm affection.

"Love you too, princess," Poe murmurs.

He knows they won't let him off this easy - it's going to be a long night, but he can at least get a short nap right here, warm and safe, while they recuperate.

-

In the morning, Poe feels as if he's been wrung out in the most pleasurable way he could imagine. He's been bent over and bent backwards and his body is sticky and aching and he's lost track of how many rose petals he's removed from his person. 

But the bed is deep and warm and soft, and even Rey seems satisfied to the point of soreness now. They have earned their reprieve. Rey, of course, looks as if she's floating on a cloud, which leaves Poe and Finn in boneless, flat solidarity in the bed.

The light - brilliant sunlight streaming in through the window - woke them all, but Poe is making a concentrated effort to get back to sleep when the knock at Rey's door comes.

He _should_ hide - should at the very least get out of the royal bed. He doesn't move a muscle. _Maybe they won't notice._

"Good morning, Princess," the voice is Tarkin's, when she answers the door.

Poes goes very still, closing his eyes and thinking _'invisible'_.

"I'm sorry to disturb you this morning, but there's to be a council meeting in an hour about a sensitive subject. I'm to invite you and your husband," Seneschal Tarkin delivers the news after only a slight pause, to his credit.

"I understand," Rey says, airily. "Finn and I will be there."

"Princess," Tarkin interjects, lifting his voice. "Is it really a wise decision to show such preference for one of your knights?"

It's delivered as politely as possible while still conveying his ultimate disdain.

Rey's response is quick, delivered in a sweet tone. "Seneschal, I value your input, but some of my decisions neither invite discussion nor require permission. As the Princess, I get to decide which those are."

She closes the door in his face and Poe feels the flame of his respect and affection burn brighter. 

-


	25. Epilogue

"You don't have to go if you don't want to," Poe reminds, looking up at his pilot.

The sky is grey and overcast in a way that reminds Poe unpleasantly of the ice. It's been a long year, and winter is coming soon. The wind stirs his hair, and as he watches it toussles Seven's feathers as well. Wen's Blue bears it out with stoicism.

"You asked me to," Kentalen reminds him, unreadable behind the goggles covering his useless eyes. "And - well, _someone_ needs to act as his guard."

- _Seven says he's optimistic for the trip,_ \- Beebee reveals. - _He's got too many memories here._ -

Poe nods to both of them, then remembers that Kentalen can't see it.

"If you want to come back home," Poe says, "we can send someone to relieve you after a while."

"I won't be missed as much," Kentalen says, with a faint smile. "You can promote Jess finally. It will help her feel better about her marriage proposal."

Poe laughs. "We may need extra Captains again, sooner rather than later. Those eggs will hatch any day."

"Well, the recruits are eager," Kentalen agrees. Then he says, softer, "don't worry about me, Knight-Commander. I know why I'm the choice."

Then he goes quiet, Seven and Blue's head turning at the same time to fix on the approaching party. It's a solemn group even though it's a family. Poe inclines his head to Leia, and watches Han wander around to inspect Captain Kentalen's rig with distrust.

"Thank you again, Knight-Commander," Leia says, ignoring his bow to catch him up into a hug.

She'd be going with Ben for long enough to get him settled where he's going. 

"It's okay," Poe says, wishing none of this were necessary.

"It _will_ be okay," Leia says, firmly. "I'll tell that Grand General, in explicit detail what's going to happen to him if it isn't."

Poe believes her. Ben's choice to do his restitution for the theft of First Order property on their soil had been a surprise to all of them, but on some level, Poe understands it. They don't know him there, won't look at him with quite the same level of fear. it's a good place to start to rebuild, in a strange way.

When Leia lets him go, he turns to Ben; it's the first time he's seen him in relative privacy since they'd returned from the north.

Poe extends a hand. Ben's dark, reserved eyes land on it, then look up into Poe's face, as if looking for a trap. Then, apparently satisfied the gesture is genuine, one of his clumsy gauntleted hands closes with exaggerated care on Poe's. There's magic in the armor to make this possible.

"I'll send some rose seeds," Poe promises.

Ben looks conflicted, torn for a moment. In the end, he doesn't thank Poe. He just nods, once, repentant. The dark eyed child Poe knew, once upon a time.

Then he climbs up behind Kentalen and Leia on Blue's harness.

"Are you sure you won't come with us, Mr. Solo?" Wen calls down as Han steps back.

"No," he answers. "I've got Falcon. I'll meet you there."

"You better," Leia warns him, and then she and Ben are lifted away by Blue's wings.

Poe wonders, as Han Solo stays behind to watch the blue speck vanishing in the sky, if it's a lie.

He doesn't wonder for long - back at the castle, Finn and Rey are waiting to spar in the garden.

 

THE END.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -WOW what a journey. Welcome to the end! I hope you've enjoyed coming along with me on this trip. :)

**Author's Note:**

> -The title is from a traditional West African fairy tale opening : A story, a story, let it come, let it go.  
> -Hopefully this is fairly clear in the text but in this universe Astomech Droids translate into Familiars that allow a rider to communicate with his dragon. (Much how X-Wings and other fighter ships use an Astromech droid to help the pilot do the more complex parts of navigational plotting). Dragons of course, take the place of X-Wings and TIE fighters.  
> -Jedi 'magic' becomes a Druidic lineage/earth based magic tied into the lines.  
> -Leia is the Queen of a neighboring kingdom that was also beseiged under the rule of Palpatine.  
> -The rest is complicated but takes it's cues primarily from the original source material and just bends it a little.  
> -No Set update schedule as of yet, but hopefully to update in a fairly quick manner. 
> 
> -IMMENSE thanks to my beta reader, GhostPatches (http://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostPatches), who is a patient and shining example of such nobility as Beta Readers should be endowed with.


End file.
